Halloween Unspectacular 8: Blue Alert
by E350
Summary: Thirty-one days, thirty-one shots, thirty-one examples of poor decision-making, Halloween Unspectacular launches once again! Prepare to be amazed, but not that amazed, as we regale you with strange tales and clumsy political commentary! Ratings, pairings and genres may vary wildly, read with discretion. Requests will be considered.
1. 01 10 18: Puttin' on the Fics

It's the moooooost blunderful time of the yeeeaaaar!

* * *

 **01 10 18: Puttin' on the Fics**

It was a dark and stormy night at Devil's Harbour. But he was in Cardiff, so it didn't really have much bearing on what they were doing.

He stood outside the Millennium Centre, his eyes covered by a marvellous hat. He watched as the other man walked across the Roald Dahl Plass, looking at just about everything but the gentleman in the hat. He stopped in front of him and nodded seriously.

"Have you noticed my hat?" said the hatted man gruffly.

"It is indeed marvellous," the other man nodded.

The hatted man looked from left to right.

"Were you followed?"

"Nope."

"Not even by Torchwood?"

"What? They blew those guys up like eight years ago! Didn't you watch Children of Earth."

"I don't count it as canon. I refuse to accept that Ianto is dead."

"Fair enough."

The hatted man handed over an envelope.

"There it is," he said, "The next airdate for Steven Universe."

"Very good. Tell the imps we'll meet at this time next year."

The hatted man tipped his hat and walked away, leaving the other to discreetly open the envelope. He looked at the contents for about three seconds.

"Well, _darn_ ," he muttered.

* * *

"So what do you think he's gonna do this year?" asked Timmy.

Danny shrugged, sipping from his mug. The two were seated around my dining room table, waiting for me to come back from my deal.

"I dunno," Danny replied, "He's done Les Mis, Mulan, Willy Wonka - I'm not sure there's much left for him to do... hey, do you hear a car?"

With a sudden, almighty crash, a 1920s car slammed through the wall, knocking both of them off their feet. From nowhere, the sound of a big band began to play, and I leapt out of the driver's seat, clad in a tuxedo and top hat.

"Oh no," groaned Danny.

" _Oh yes,_ " I replied.

I jumped onto the car roof and began to sing.

" _Have you seen the artistry,  
On FFN and AO3?  
Posting stuff for us to view,  
Stories free, for me and you!"_

I pulled a walking stick from thin air and began to dance.

 _"Crossovers for us to purview!  
Lemons and High School AUs!  
Fanfiction online,  
For a wonderful time!  
So..."_

The car doors burst open. Despite the fact that there should not have been any room for them, Peridot, Stan, Sandy, Jimmy, Wirt and Plankton jumped out, dressed in similar suits and hats. They danced as I sang on.

 _"If you're blue and you don't know  
What to read through, why don'tcha go  
And take your picks?  
Puttin' on the Fics!"_

"Join in, guys!" I shouted, and the others began to sing.

 _"Role swaps, fluff and anime,  
Angst and WAFF, it's here to stay,  
How 'bout fix fics?  
Puttin' on the Fics!"_

I pointed my stick at Plankton, and he took the lead.

 _"Epics, oneshots, drabbles and novellas,  
Turning heroes into twisted fellas,  
Nothing sweller!_"

I swung the stick in Wirt's direction.

 _"And you'll see we've everything,  
From TV to fabled kings,  
A perfect mix!  
Puttin' on the Fics!"_

"Take it away, Peri!"

Peridot jumped onto the table and began to tap dance as the instrumental portion of the song blared.

"If... if anyone's recording this or anything," I said, "That... I'm gonna claim that's totally me. Yeah, yeah, people will believe that."

"They won't," said Jimmy.

"They won't," I admitted.

I shrugged as Stan began to sing.

 _"On dA you'll find weird from here to Venus,  
And they're not afraid of showing... _uh... stuff."

"Probably should've cut that line," he shrugged.

"Oh well," I replied, before breaking into the final chorus.

 _"So take a look, it's worth a glance,  
Throw out your hook, give it a chance,  
And get some kicks!  
Puttin' on the Fics!  
Puttin' on the Fics!  
Puttin' on the Fiiiiiiiiiiics!"_

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, throwing out both my arms.

I smiled, panting a little from exertion as I climbed down from the top of the car.

"Well, here we go again," sighed Timmy.

"Hey, maybe this year you can go one month without killing me or eternally trapping me in some kind of horrific torment," added Danny.

"I ain't promising you anything, Fenton," I replied.

I stretched, nodded and cracked my finger.

"Well, time to get to work!" I declared.

There was a brief silence.

"All of you people get out of my house."

* * *

AN: We're on the road again!


	2. 02 10 18: The Horrible Headcase

The next one will probably take a little longer to come up - my sleeping patterns are a bit out, so I'm writing these really early in the morning instead of in the evening like I normally do, but I've got to be at Uni tomorrow so I'll be wanting to fix that if I can. So sorry in advance about that.

* * *

 **02/10/18: The Horrible Headcase**

"The main thing is, we didn't get eaten. Now let's get some lunch."

The Shack door swung open, and Ford, Dipper and Wendy stepped into the gift shop. It had been a long morning, but their quest to retrieve Stan's stolen girdle had been completed, and now they looked forward to a rest. On the other side of the room, Mabel was going through a rack of shirts, her head buried in the merchandise.

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, walking over, "How's your morning be _AAAAAH!_ "

Mabel had pulled back from the rack - her head was completely missing, her neck covered by a smooth patch of skin.

"Whoa," said Wendy, "Either that's a _really good_ Headless Horseman illusion thing, or something happened to her while we were gone."

"Not just her," said Ford.

He was looking into the living room. Stan was sitting on his chair, similarly bereft of head - Soos, sweeping the floor next to him, was in a similar situation.

"So someone stole their heads," mused Wendy, "But... they're not reacting to it?"

"Well, that definitely narrows down who is was," replied Ford, pulling one of his journals from his coat, "It looks like we're dealing with the Horrible Headcase."

"The _Horrible Headcase?_ " repeated Wendy, tilting her head.

"Yeah, he needs a better PR guy," nodded Ford, opening the journal, "The Headcase was a carnie in the early 1900s - he banked his success on his uncanny impression of President McKinley and his amazing illusionist skills. Only he started his show the day McKinley was _shot_ , and on top of that his illusions were considered unconvincing."

He shook his head and looked at Mabel, who was absentmindedly playing with Waddles next to the counter.

"His last hope was to pull off a successful beheading illusion," he continued, "There was only one problem."

"What was that?" asked Dipper.

"He didn't realise it was supposed to be an illusion."

" _Oh._ "

"Yeesh," Wendy winced.

"After he was executed, he returned as a ghoul," said Ford, "Sort of like a ghost but more physical in form, but not really a zombie either. Anyway, since then he's travelled the world, collecting heads for the highest bidder in a misguided attempt to achieve his dreams of success."

"So why don't they call him the Headhunter?" asked Wendy.

"I believe it was copyrighted," shrugged Ford.

He furrowed his brow, gazing dramatically at the door.

"Well, we'll just have to find him," he declared, "It's going to be a long and arduous process - we'll need to harness all of our detective skills if we're going to-"

"Hey, he left his card!" exclaimed Dipper, grabbing said item from the counter.

He handed it to Ford.

"Horrible Headcase Pty, 23 North McHale Street... oh, that's only twenty minutes from here," shrugged Ford, "That's surprisingly thoughtful of him."

"Wait a minute," mused Dipper, "23 North McHale, isn't that..."

* * *

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating a brick building labelled _Gravity Falls Supernatural Offices - for Spells and Monsters, look no further!_

"When did _this_ spring up?" asked Ford.

"I dunno, just sort of appeared one morning," replied Dipper.

"Oh yes," nodded Ford, "Supernatural businesses are wont to do that."

"I'm more interested in where that lightning came from," said Wendy, "I mean, it's eighty-three and sunny!"

"We'll worry about that later," declared Ford, "For now, we've got a headhunter to hunt."

He marched through the front door and up to the desk. A blonde woman, who would look to all the world like an average secretary were it not for the fact she was a cyclops, was filing her nails - she looked up as Ford approached.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a deep Boston brogue.

"I'm here to destroy the Horrible Headcase," growled Ford, "Or at very least rough him up a little."

"Down the hall, third office to your right," replied the reception, "But he's in a meeting."

"Well, I'll just have to join in," snapped Ford.

He marched off down the hall, Dipper and Wendy right behind him. He reached the door, helpfully marked _Horrible Headcase - Come in, we're open!_ With a great deal of force, he kicked it down.

Dipper gasped.

Instead of a normal office, the Horrible Headcase resided in a giant cavern of mossy slate. The roof was high above them, and the walls were covered in rows and rows of disembodied heads. They stared blankly into the distance, sometimes blinking - it was a decidedly creepy sight.

"How many people has he... oh my gosh, I think that's Jimmy Hoffa!" exclaimed Dipper, pointing at the offending head.

"I see you've come to make an appointment!"

In the centre of the cavern, there stood a man with peeling, green skin, clad in a red waistcoat and a straw hat. He looked every inch a showman, with a glint in his eye that would have been right at home on Grunkle Stan. He stood next to a cauldron - on the other side of the cauldron was a very familiar face.

"Preston Northwest?!" exclaimed Wendy.

"Oh, good afternoon!" replied Preston, "You're some of those _poors_ , right?"

"You know who I am!" snapped Dipper, "I saved your mansion! I- we save the whole town! _Including you!_ "

"I can't be expected to remember the names of _everyone_ I owe a life debt to," sniffed Preston.

"I should have left you frozen under Bill Cipher's..."

Dipper scratched his chin.

"Did... did Bill _have_ a butt?" he asked.

"That's a question I don't want to think about," replied Ford, "I, uh... _anyway!_ The jig is up, Headcase! Return my family's heads or suffer the consequences!"

"I can't do _that!_ " replied the Headcase, "You see, Mr. Northwest fairly paid for all the heads I could gather in this town."

"Wait... _all_ the heads?" quizzed Wendy.

"Yes, my dear," replied the Headcase, " _All_ the heads."

He extended his arms. A swarm of heads flew from the walls, hovering above them - each of them was familiar. Alongside the Pines family and Soos, there hovered McGucket, the Corduroys, Wendy's friends, Gideon and many other townsfolk.

"Fiddleford!" exclaimed Ford.

"My friends!" gasped Wendy, "My family!"

"Uh... uh, Gideon! I guess," stammered Dipper.

"Not anymore!" replied Preston, "Now they're going to be the centrepiece of my amazing new tourist attraction, _the Spooky House!_ "

His expression suddenly turned dark.

"Disney lawyers, _eat your hearts out._ "

"But why?" exclaimed Ford, "Surely you could just use animatronics!"

"Please," sneered Preston, "I'm a _capitalist_. This is just what I do! I table it all in next to fracking and nuclear waste dumps and exacerbating the suffering of the poor! It's no _fun_ if you're not despicable!"

"You... that's not even just evil!" exclaimed Wendy, "It's really _weird!_ "

"You should count yourselves lucky," sniffed Preston, " _Your_ heads didn't meet the criteria! Too nasty and sweaty, too _unbearably red_ , and I simply can't abide duplicates."

"And what do you get out of this?" demanded Dipper, pointing at the Headcase.

"Patronage," replied the Headcase, "I would perform for an adoring public at the Spooky House, my past finally erased! I would step back into the light as an honest showman once again, and..."

"But you look like a _zombie_ , dude," said Wendy.

"Yeah, you could call it makeup, but I think one of your eyes is literally falling out," added Dipper.

"It is _not!_ " snapped the Headcase, discreetly pushing the eye back into its socket, "And anyway, I'll have a _new_ head. The most beautiful in the world!"

He extended his arms again, and one of the heads floated down into his grip. He beamed as he showed off Stan's head.

"Look at him," he said dreamily, "He is the perfect hunk, is he not?"

"Well, I think it's a matter of taste..." replied Ford.

"...I mean, I personally wouldn't..." said Dipper.

"He's not," said Wendy bluntly.

"Besides!" added the Headcase, "Your friends aren't significantly troubled! Why, thanks to my magic, they don't even realise there's anything to worry about!"

Ford narrowed his eyes.

"They don't," he declared, "But we do. Now I'm gonna give you _one more chance._ "

"Or what?" sneered the Headcase, "You'll tear off my head and use it as a soccer ball in some kind of _ironic_ punishment?"

"...no, I'm just gonna beat you up," replied Ford, "I don't have time for that sort of thing, _Ghost Harassers_ is on at eight."

"Told you you'd like it," Dipper grinned.

"It is a very good show," nodded Ford.

"Well then!" exclaimed the Headcase, "Have it your way! Face my _ultimate magical powers!_ "

"Rush him!" bellowed Wendy.

They charged towards each other, screaming at the tops of their lungs.

* * *

 _THREE MINUTES LATER..._

Blubs and Durland were bundling the Headcase and Preston into the back of a police car.

"You sure it's a good idea to send a magical demon to person jail?" asked Durland.

"Eh," shrugged Blubs.

They climbed into the front of the car and drove away.

Ford smiled in satisfaction, rubbing his hands together as he watched the squad car disappear.

"Well, looks like we've done a good day's work," he said.

"Uh, Ford?" said Wendy.

"Perfectly handled and absolutely nothing went wrong," continued Ford, his tone starting to turn very smug.

" _Ford?_ " said Dipper.

"A perfect Ford Pines resolution to an incredible adventure," Ford beamed.

"Ford, how do we know the heads went back to the right bodies?" asked Wendy.

"I..."

Ford trailed off, his face falling.

"Uh... looks like we're gonna be dropping into the county jail on the way back to the shack," he said, "I... I'm gonna need to ask the Headcase some questions..."

* * *

Pacifica had just arrived at the Shack, whistling to herself as she walked in.

"Well, howdy-tootin'-doo, Paz! Check out m' beard!"

Mabel was sitting on the counter, McGucket's head in the place of her own. Waddles was cheerfully licking all manner of gunk out of her beard.

"Hey, dudes, I think I got something in one of my eyes," added Soos as he walked in - he now had Lazy Susan's head.

At the back of the room, Stan was looking into a mirror - a pink, almost bubblegum-like head was on top of his shoulders.

"I don't know _where_ this head came from," he said, "But I suddenly feel a lot more _scientific_."

Without skipping a beat, Pacifica turned around and walked right back out again.

* * *

AN: Yeah, I don't blame you, Paz.


	3. 02 10 18: Come And See

Sorry this is so much later than the last one; I overestimated my ability to post while at Uni. I should be able to stabilise my updating to about this time now, though.

* * *

 **03/10/18: Come And See**

It didn't come in the way you might have expected. There was no horned demon, nor was there a man of wealth and taste. Instead, standing at the door of her bedroom, his arm outstretched, was a pale woman in a white dress, highlighted by a glowing white aura. She looked the part of the stereotypical angel.

"Hello, Gazlene," she said softly, "I am the Devil."

Gaz blinked, tilting her head.

"You don't look like it," she said, crossing her arms.

"Looks can be deceiving," replied the Devil.

"What do you want?" demanded Gaz.

"I think the better question is, what do _you_ want?"

The Devil smiled.

"Gazlene, I've made a little wager," she said, "You see, you've been marked for my abode for years now. A… _friend_ thinks you can be redeemed. So we're going to play a game."

She held out a small, silver pocket watch, permanently frozen at seven minutes to midnight.

"I offer you fortune," she said, "In exchange, others will experience severe… _misfortune_. Everything you are granted will cause global misery and destruction, until the second hand strikes twelve…"

"And when that happens?" asked Gaz.

"Look up the seven seals," replied the Devil, "It may give you some idea."

She smirked.

"I sense you don't believe me," she said, "Perhaps you ought to give it a try. If you use all seven wishes, of course… I win the bet."

"And what _is_ the bet?" demanded Gaz.

The Devil turned to walk away.

"That is my own business," she replied, "Have fun, Gazlene."

With that, she vanished into the dark night.

* * *

It certainly seemed a waste to use the first wish on a sandwich or a video game, even if she was a little hungry. So she went a little bigger; an infinitely refilling cooler and a video game console with every game imaginable.

The minute hand ticked over.

Two days later, an election was held. The world stood in silent shock as the expected outcome failed to materialise; the smiling, almost snarling face of Vlad Masters appeared on every television, celebrating his unexpected victory. Two short months later, he was riding to his inauguration in a white Mustang car.

Within weeks, an incident had occurred on the Iraq-Iran border. It was enough of a pretext for what President Masters called 'decisive military action' - US Marines were landing on the Iranian coast before the week was out. The news was filled with terrible images of war - bombers over Tehran, tank battles in the desert, massive protests in just about every major city.

The requirement for new and better weapons kept Professor Membrane in his lab more than ever before. Gaz and Dib now effectively fended for themselves. Gaz, of course, could eat whatever she wanted whenever she wanted - but she wasn't about to share with her brother.

One night she found Dib in front of the TV, watching a news broadcast.

" _...President Masters has announced that the vigilante Danny Phantom is officially outlawed, and a federal manhunt is now underway to bring him in…_ "

"None of this makes sense!" exclaimed Dib, "Masters was trailing by eight points in the election! There's gotta be a… an outside force, like, I dunno, molemen or something! Election-tampering molemen!"

"You're an idiot," grunted Gaz, heading off to her room.

"Okay, maybe not molemen!" Dib shouted after her, "But it's gotta be something!"

Gaz pulled the watch from her pocket, thinking to herself for a moment. Her wish had now killed thousands and disrupted the lives of countless more. Perhaps she should be more careful in future.

No. The misfortune was befalling _other_ people. Why should she care?

* * *

A man accidentally shut an elevator before she could get in. Such an act could not go unpunished, and she therefore wished unending torment upon him. She never heard from him again, so she assumed it worked.

The minute hand ticked over.

Three days later, a Chinese supply ship exploded in the Gulf of Tonkin. China blamed Vietnam, the US backed Vietnam, Russia backed China, and before long it was all on. Russian forces were smashing through Poland, Hong Kong turned into a battlefield, and World War III was well underway.

President Masters announced the largest recruitment drive in history. Dozens of older teens vanished from the streets, forced into uniform. Dib, who was nearing that age, was starting to get very nervous. Gaz was tempted to use a wish to get him conscripted earlier, but she figured it was better to just let time deal with that.

The war never went nuclear - perhaps because nuclear armageddon would cause Gaz just as much misfortune as everyone else - but the destruction was immense. Yesterday there was a massive air raid on Bucharest; today, a full battalion of US soldiers was reported wiped out. The news anchor was blaring on and on about this 'Delmarva Battalion' and how it was a massive tragedy for a bunch of one horse towns on the other side of the country - _who the hell cares_ , Gaz thought.

Dib was watching it religiously, still trying to work out how the world went wrong. He sat directly in front of the TV, taking notes.

"... _of the so-called 'Beach City Company', there are only two known survivors, Corporal Buck Dewey and Private Jeff Brooks. The question must be raised - why did President Masters think it was a good idea to put the entire working age population of a small town in the same unit? Could he have not foreseen the…_ "

"This is bad," Dib muttered to himself, "This… this is apocalyptically bad…"

Gaz shrugged and left him to his own devices. She was alright, so who really cared?

* * *

The sound of warplanes and cruise missiles all through the night irritated Gaz, and thus her third wish was to soundproof her room. The roar of engines stopped, and she slept peacefully once more.

The minute hand ticked over.

President Masters' first state of the union address came with the announcement of large-scale rationing of all food items. Long lines were soon forming for bread and meat - but far worse was to come.

In March, Mount St. Helens erupted again. The ash cloud was blown east, across the American heartland - ninety percent of the country's crop yield failed. America now relied on imports, which often fell prey to enemy submarines. Large parts of the nation fell into famine as the big cities like New York and Chicago swallowed up every ounce of available food. It was no better anywhere else on Earth.

As the months wore on, Dib became thinner and thinner, but Gax ate as well as she ever had. Dib wasn't stupid, of course - he took note.

"How come you're not going hungry?" he asked one day, as he carefully divided his half loaf of sawdust-bread into equal portions for the rest of the week.

"I'm not weak, I guess," shrugged Gaz.

"...right, sure," Dib nodded skeptically, "I think I have an idea of what's going on, but if it's true, I…"

"I don't care," snapped Gaz, "I'm going to my room."

She marched off, leaving Dib to his theories.

* * *

Gaz grew tired of her education - it was proving a needless distraction from the things that _really_ mattered. A quick wish and a helpful rocket strike later, she no longer needed to travel to that wretched building.

The minute hand ticked over.

Meanwhile in Los Angeles, a man fell ill. He was soon admitted to hospital - from there, his ailment spread to the staff, to other patients, to visitors, to the street…

It spread like wildfire. Nobody knew where it came from, but they certainly knew what it was. It was a nightmare thought lost to history - first the flu-like symptoms, then the horrible purple lumps. It was the return of that most dreaded disease of all - the Black Death.

Panic, dark and visceral, set in. The west coast was quarantined by force of arms, but the plague swept right through. Every city turned into a terrible hell of bodies and rats and fear, and a foul, foul stench stained the air. The war broke down. Everything broke down. The President went underground. The TV went dead.

At least the rockets stopped.

Dib spent nearly every waking moment trying to work out a solution to this world crisis. Gaz almost pitied him - he hadn't the hope of saving anybody, and he really ought to consider himself lucky that she allowed him to rescue even a few. Stragglers from the west were now gathered in Membrane's lab (was he even still alive?), bringing terrible tales of destruction and disease.

Gaz passed Dib as he changed the bandage of a brown-haired girl, shaking and muttering flatly to herself; " _why was it him why wasn't it me?_ "

Dib narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing.

 _Finally_ , Gaz thought, _he's shut up_.

* * *

The ongoing apocalypse had put pay to new TV programs, which annoyed Gaz, as all of her favourite gaming shows were now off the air. She wished them back, and episodes appeared from out of thin air. She was content - never mind that the hosts were visibly decaying.

The minute hand ticked over.

The next day, the TV suddenly had signal again. General Thaddeus Ross, dishevelled and wild-eyed, declared that he was now running an emergency government. President Masters, he said, couldn't be found, but some of Cabinet could clearly be seen swaying from nearby lampposts.

US Marines - or at least they called themselves that - marched into the cities and towns, clad in gasmasks and thick rubber gloves. They began to round up 'traitors' and 'heathens' - people they deemed not to have supported the war effort, or helped spread the plague. These were the Hanging Times, and they cut a swathe through an already devastated population.

Dib opened his doors again - they were basically his now, Membrane was gone and Gaz rarely left her room - to those fleeing military persecution. He supposed it was just the right thing to do. In any case, the stories he heard were shocking - a boy forced from his home for 'harbouring magical elements'; a tall person who was legally two people, and considered 'revolting' by the new government; another boy, a boy genius in fact, who was singled out for being too intellectual.

All the time, Dib studied. And eventually, he came to a conclusion…

* * *

"Gaz, this has to stop."

Dib stood in his sister's door, his arms crossed.

"What the heck are you talking about?" demanded Gaz, "Get out of here before I throw you…"

"I know about the watch," said Dib.

There was a long silence.

"The wager," said Gaz, "The friend who thought I could be 'redeemed.' That was _you_."

"In my defence, I never thought she'd give you _that_ ," replied Dib, "Gaz, you're opening the seven seals! If you keep that up, you're going to end the entire world!"

"Who cares?" asked Gaz, "The world sucks anyway."

"It doesn't deserve to _die!_ " exclaimed Dib.

Gaz shook her head.

"You know what?" she said, taking out the watch, "I want a soda."

The beverage appeared in her hand.

The minute hand ticked over.

" _Gaz!_ " exclaimed Dib, "What the hell did you do that for?!"

"Seeing you panic is funny," Gaz shrugged.

"But you have no idea what you've…"

He trailed off as he heard the wail. In the distance, he could hear the tone, low at first, then higher and higher, then lower once again - the nightmarish drone of an air raid siren.

"What… _what have you done?_ " he gasped.

"Who cares?" replied Gaz, sipping the soda.

"What… Gaz, you're supposed to be better than this!" shouted Dib, "Sure, you're selfish and more than a little cruel, but this? _This?_ How can you keep doing this when you know what's going to happen?"

"Shut up, Dib," growled Gaz.

" _No!_ " thundered Dib, "Never! I… I can't believe you, Gaz! I had faith in you, and you… and… ARRGH!"

Gaz shook her head.

"You know, I really wish I didn't have to listen to your shrieking all the time," she grumbled.

The minute hand ticked over.

Silence fell. The room became dark, and the air grew noticeably denser. Dib shuddered involuntarily and stepped back, wondering what fresh hell his sister had unleashed.

And then, there came the laughter, soft and gentle, as the Devil appeared in the room. She smiled and extended her hands as she turned towards Gaz.

"Thank you, Gazlene," she said sweetly, "For you have won me my bet."

"Bet?"

Dib paled as he remembered.

"Oh no…"

"Yeah, big deal," grunted Gaz, "What did you win, a pony or something?"

"Gaz… Gaz, I'm so sorry," said Dib, shaking his head in horror.

"Something much greater, actually," replied the Devil, "I won…"

Her eyes turned ink black, as did her dress, and her hair was picked up as if caught in an enormous gust of wind.

" **...your soul.** "

The wall behind Gaz morphed, turning into a gaping, fleshy maw, adorned with rows upon rows of rotting, sharp teeth. A black tongue shot forth, probing the room - deep down in the throat, Dib could see the embers of white hot fire. The stench was indescribable.

The tongue shot out, wrapping Gaz in its putrid grip. She screamed, reaching out for Dib.

"Help me, you idiot!" she roared.

Dib swallowed and shook his head.

"A deal's a deal, Gaz," he replied sadly, "I… I really thought you were better than this, but…"

His voice broke.

" _A deal's a deal._ "

"No! _No! I take it back!"_ screeched Gaz, " _I take it all back!_ "

"Too late, Gazlene," sneered the Devil, "You're about to find out that there are places _**worse than Hell.**_ "

The tongue drew back. Gaz screamed as she was sucked into the gaping maw and towards the fire. The maw closed before she reached the flame, but Dib could still hear the screams of fear transform into shrieks of agony.

Then suddenly, he felt himself falling, down, down, down…

* * *

With a thud, Dib felt himself land in front of his laptop.

He shook his head, gazing at the opened news article - _Simpson Leads Masters By Eight Points_. The date was months ago. Had… had he simply dreamed everything that had happened?

He turned around and saw the Devil behind him.

"Thank you for playing," she said, "That was… _rather fun._ "

"You… you undid the apocalypse?" croaked Dib.

"Your people are too interesting, Dib," shrugged the Devil, "It would be a shame to leave them in ruin."

"Does that mean Gaz…"

"A deal is still a deal, my friend," replied the Devil, "But of course, you can check for yourself."

She smiled.

"I may yet see you again," she said, "It all depends on the life you choose to live."

With that, the Devil vanished from Dib's life.

* * *

Two days later, Lisa Simpson defeated Vlad Masters by the expected massive margin. She would go on to broker a historic treaty with Iran.

Within the next few months attempted plot by a militant faction within the People's Liberation Army to cause a war was thwarted, but the shock of the near miss spooked the superpowers into de-escalating tensions. An illegal bubonic plague lab was shut down by the authorities.

All that, of course, was in the future. Now, however, Dib sat in a hospital next to his sister, who stared blankly at the roof. The doctors said she had gone catatonic, and they couldn't tell why.

Dib knew, of course. Gaz' body was there, but her soul had gone to a place so terrible words could not describe it. And the worst part was that he couldn't bring himself to feel bad for her.

"I don't understand it," the nurse said, "Why would she just shut down like that? What happened to her? Did she witness something traumatic, or…"

Slowly, Gaz sat up in her bed, her eyes still blank yet searing into the soul. Her mouth twisted into a warped grin, and she rasped out a simple response.

" _Come and see._ "

* * *

AN: Dude, couldn't you have taken Gaz' soul without going through the whole Book of Revelations schtick? Bleedin' Devil makes things too complicated...


	4. 04 10 18: The People v Freakshow

A good ol' courtroom story!

* * *

 **04/10/18: The People v. Frederik Showenhower**

It was a wet and rainy day, and the County Court was full. Outside the old, marble building, the media were gathered in their droves, shoving cameras in the face of the defendant as he and his lawyer walked up the stairs. It was a big trial - the biggest trial in local history, in fact - and everyone awaited the verdict with baited breath.

A microphone was suddenly shoved in the defendant's face.

"Chet Ubetcha," the reporter called, "Tell me, Showenhower, how do you think you'll explain your crimes?"

Freakshow scowled at him.

"You will all feel my wrath," he snarled, "In time."

He marched away. The reporter next to Chet raised his eyebrow.

"You know," said Toby Determined, "I think he sounds innocent."

"Get away from me," grunted Chet, walking away.

Not far away, Kent Brockman was reporting on events.

"It looks the beginning of the end for the criminal known as Freakshow and his band of supernatural miscreants," he said, "What sentence the judge will pass, only time will tell - but personally, this reporter believes they must be punished in the most brutal, Old Testament fashion."

He put a hand to his ear as his editor contacted him.

"I'm again being reminded not to editorialise on air," he grumbled.

The courtroom was packed as Freakshow was walked in, sitting next his partners in crime as the mass of chattering around him died down. Judge Snyder banged his gavel and stared gravely at the defendants.

"Frederik Isak Showenhower," he declared, "Lydia, Finbarr Calamitous, ManRay and Jeff…"

"This is the last time I let Shmebulock talk me into anything," growled Jeff.

"...you are charged with multiple counts of bank robbery, grand larceny, grand theft auto, train robbery, piracy, conspiracy, vote tampering, attempted manslaughter, terrorism, fraud, assaulting police, resisting arrest, hate speech, regicide and jaywalking. How do you plead?"

Their lawyer stood up.

"My clients," he declared, "Are completely guilty."

A massive gasp filled the room.

"...of being innocent."

Snyder rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Hutz, you can just say 'innocent.'"

"Right," Lionel Hutz nodded, "Then they're that, then."

Snyder frowned. It was clear that this was going to be a long trial.

* * *

"Place your hand on the Bible."

Slowly, Moe did so.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Yeah, sure, I do."

The hand Moe had placed on the Bible instantly burst into flame. The bailiff stared in confused shock, but Moe didn't react in the slightest.

"Yeah, that happens," he nodded, "I'm sorta dulled to the pain these days."

* * *

"Mr. Syzlack," said Yellow Zircon, pacing in front of the bartender, "Freakshow's gang robbed your bar on the night of 24th September. Can you describe what happened?"

"Yes, I remember it well," replied Moe, "He came in with the tattoo broad; y'know, the green one. Really wrecked up the place. But what I… what I remember most was what he did to Barney."

His lip quivered.

"Please tell the court, Mr. Syzlack," urged Yellow Zircon.

"I… he walked up to him," whimpered Moe, "And… and he told him… he needed to clean himself up. And he… he took his beer and… and held it over his head and…"

Moe broke down, burying his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, I can't go on!"

"Yeah, I poured his drink over his head," grunted Freakshow, "It's really not an enormous deal."

"You monster! I'll kill you!"

Barney Gumble burst out of the stands, rushing towards Freakshow. He was quickly grabbed by the bailiffs and dragged back towards the door, screaming all the way.

"You cost me my precious Duff! I'll never forgive you! _AAAAAAHHHHH!_ "

He was unceremoniously tossed outside, the door slammed closed behind him.

"...hey, there's peanuts on the floor here!" he could be heard to say, muffled by the wooden doors.

"Uh… no further questions," said Yellow Zircon.

* * *

"Mr. Krabs," said Yellow Zircon, "Is it true that ManRay and Calamitous viciously vandalised your restaurant on October 1st?"

"Arr, it be as true as I be sitting here," replied Mr. Krabs, "It was a dark and terrible night…"

 _We were on the late shift, and I were about to ring the last bell before closin' time when I heard a terrible shriek on the wind._

 _"_ _ManRay on the port bow, yonder!" me faithful bo'sun Squidward thundered._

 _And that's when I saw 'em, standin' on the helm o' two vicious pirate men o' war, determined to steal plunder from me own cargo. But I were determined to hold on._

 _"_ _To me!" I bellowed, "To arms, ye bilge rats! Stand by your captain!"_

 _Arr, I defended the Krusty Krab for many hours, I did - with the aide of me trusty powder monkey, Spongebob, and me crew of hardened marines, I fought those evil pirates with steel n' shot, defendin' me quarterdeck until me last breath…_

"Mr. Krabs, may I remind you that you're under oath?" grunted Judge Snyder.

Mr. Krabs' face fell.

"I was in the bathroom," he admitted, "I'm pretty sure Squidward hid in a barrel until they left."

* * *

"Freakshow mind-controlled Amethyst, Garnet and Bismuth to help him carry out robberies," Pearl testified, "He caused incalculable damage to local businesses. He put Greg in the hospital. I really can't overstate how much physical and emotional damage he caused us."

Hutz pursed his lips.

"Surely, Ms. Pearl, you could think of something _good_ he did, can't you?"

"No," Pearl replied bluntly, "I honestly can't think of a single positive thing he did for myself or anyone else. I mean, perhaps Lapis got a bit of satisfaction out of dropping the ocean on ManRay and fighting Lydia gave Connie some excellent sword practice-"

"Let the record show," interrupted Hutz, "My client created satisfaction and helped with sword practice."

"Mr. Hutz, that's still not a good-"

" _Satisfaction and practice._ "

* * *

"Mr. Neutron, you've known Professor Calamitous for a long time," said Hutz, "You can vouch for his character, right?"

"He's my arch-nemesis," replied Jimmy.

Hutz blinked.

"Oh."

"Mr. Hutz, did you actually _vet_ any of your witnesses?" demanded Snyder.

"Uh…"

Snyder massaged his aching temples.

"So, uh, I guess you guys are also gonna be negative character witnesses?" Hutz asked, turning forlornly towards the rest of his witnesses.

"Yep," said Timmy.

"Uh-huh," said Danny.

"Sorry," said Spongebob.

Hutz blinked.

"Your honour," he said, turning to Snyder, "Can we have a recess?"

"Are you going to attempt to run for the county line?"

"...no?"

"Denied."

* * *

The trial had moved on, and now the jury were in their isolated room, deliberating the case.

"They're guilty, right?" said Sandy, "This is just an open-and-shut thing?"

"Well, they _are_ guilty," nodded Grunkle Stan, "But I dunno about the sentence."

"What do you mean?" asked Jerry.

"Well, two hundred years for a bit o' grand larceny, a little piracy, some regicide here or there; I've dabbled in those things. Seems harsh to dump him in the clink for it."

"Why, any one of us could've done those things!" Plankton agreed.

"Well, if we just get him for the jaywalking, he only gets three weeks community service," mused Drew Pickles.

" _He stole the Eiffel Tower!_ " exclaimed Sandy.

"Hasn't everyone?" shrugged Plankton.

"Maybe if we only find him guilty of the really bad crimes," mused Jerry, picking up the rap sheet, "Like manslaughter and terrorism and software piracy."

"But then we'd have to sit here and go through _all_ the charges!" exclaimed Sandy, " _Tarnation_ , we oughta just throw the book at him!"

"What kind of prison is he going to, though?" mused Princess Bubblegum, "I mean, if he's just going to normal person jail and he escapes again, what's the point?"

"Well, the point is that it deters other people," shrugged Drew.

" _Does it, though?_ " asked Stan, shrugging, "I mean, it never stopped me. Heck, I swiped Brockman's watch on the way in here."

"Well… I dunno, maybe they'll send him to a better jail," said Sandy.

"In this state?" scoffed Stan, "Not a chance!"

"Well, _ding dong darn!_ " exclaimed Hugh Neutron, "Looks like we're at an impasse. But you know, I've got an idea - let's explain our opinions…"

He whipped out a quitar.

"... _in song!_ "

"No!" the other jurors exclaimed.

"Like, we've gotta make a choice here, dudes!" exclaimed Shaggy, "There's no food in here, and it's been, like, half-an-hour since I last ate!"

"Good point," nodded Stan, "What verdict gets us out of here quickest?"

"We can't abandon our duties as jurors just so we can go home quicker!" exclaimed Sandy, "And there ain't nothin' you can say to make me…"

* * *

"...we find the defendant _not guilty_ ," grumbled Sandy.

"Case dismissed," said Snyder, banging his gavel, "You're free to go."

Freakshow and Hutz leapt into the air and hi-fived as music began to play.

 _I can see clearly now the rain is gone_

 _I can see all obstacles in my way…_

* * *

AN: Freakshow celebrated by stealing Hutz' wallet and car.


	5. 05 10 18: First They Came

_Heeeeeeere's_ plotty!

* * *

 **05/10/18: First They Came...**

There was a maxim written after World War II that comes to mind these days.

"First they came for the communists, and I did not speak up, because I was not a communist."

"Then they came for the trade-unionists, and I did not speak up, because I was not a trade-unionist."

"Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak up, because I was not a Jew."

"Then they came for me, and there was nobody left to speak up."

It was written about a time when the Nazis were gaining in strength; when one by one, they ostracised and criminalised their enemies, isolating them and allowing them to be destroyed in detail. It is a warning against the attitudes that allowed for the Holocaust. And it is true of today.

When President Fulton said that he was removing mutants and Inhumans from the population 'for their own protection,' we believed him. When he said that war with Wakanda was justified on account of 'King T'Challa's mindless provocation', we believed him. When he called for the massive expansion of executive powers to wage war on 'social subversives,' we believed him.

Now he comes for the press in the name of 'freedom,' and it no longer matters if we believe him.

I remember when Secretary of Defence William Wilder announced Operation King Tiger - apparently you send a Tiger to kill a Panther. When Shandra Jimenez reminded everyone that a 'King Tiger' was a Nazi tank, responsible for killing American servicemen in World War II, she was turned an internet meme on social media.

"If they'd seen the world today," somebody wrote, "They'd be on the side of the Tigers."

* * *

"You remember when you could say 'Nazis are bad' and no-one would disagree with you?" asked Peter Parker, looking up from the iPad.

"Nah, it's always been like this," replied Ford, "It's just now the cretins have got Twitter."

They were standing in the back of a van, travelling discreetly through back alleys and less-known roads. Outside they could hear sirens and helicopters, and loudspeakers telling the public that all was well.

"Alright, we go in the back," said Ford, "They're still getting everything together, so we should make it there before SWAT. Once we're in, stick to the plan; we're here to make a point, not start the revolution."

"That's for next week," said Jimmy dryly.

"Well... yes," admitted Ford, "Anyway, remember; we want them in the _main office_. This has to be on camera. The world needs to see this. Don't start until I give the word..."

* * *

I remember the days after the bombing of the Baxter Building and Attilan. It was startling how quickly the media turned Reed Richards from victim to perpetrator, and how quickly the public accepted fanciful stories about the Inhumans bombing themselves. It was everywhere; 'false flag' and 'conspiracy' became the buzz words that captivated New York and the world.

More startling was how quickly we all excepted Captain America himself as a monster, because he had, apparently, killed American forces. There is no evidence that he killed anyone, and if he did, it was in self-defence. Yet the whole country was swept up in the assassination of his character; the symbolic drumming out of the army, the public burning of his paraphernalia, senators going on TV and telling us that they 'knew he was bad' all along. There were even snide questions about his relationship with James Buchanan Barnes - as if that had any relevance to his character!

This was a revelation to me. I grew up on tales of Captain America and the Howling Commandos during the war; I could have just about given you a day-by-day account of his fight against the Nazis and HYDRA. I'd play with plastic army men; one I'd spray pain blue (he was Cap) and re-enact the Battles of the Bulge, Normandy, the last raid on the Red Skull's base. It was baffling to me that he would become the villain. Did this mean that the Red Skull was now the hero? There doesn't appear to be any shades of grey in this argument, so perhaps he must be.

So I started to think, and I came to an earth-shaking conclusion. I was wrong.

Not about Cap; I did and still do defend him.

* * *

" _New York Police Department! On the ground!_ "

The SWAT officers burst through the reception, rifles and shotguns drawn. Terrified, the dozens of people in the lobby went to ground, covering their heads - the officers charged forward, right up to the desk. One pressed his pistol right up to the receptionist's face.

"You are under arrest!" he thundered, "Do not resist!"

"But I..."

" _Do not resist!_ " the SWAT officer bellowed, "Get on the ground! _Get on the ground!_ "

"Sir!" another officer stood by the lift, "The elevator's out!"

"Then take the stairs!" shouted the lead officer, " _Move, move, move!_ "

"What... what have we done?!" A worker had stood up and was approaching the officer, his hands up.

" _Get on the ground!_ " the officer boomed again.

"But what have we done?" demanded the worker.

"Freedom of Truth Act, asshole!" the officer shouted back, "This outfit's fake and we're shutting it down. Now _get! On! The ground!_ "

"Fake... are you kidding me?!" exclaimed the worker, "We're a respected news-"

The officer fired his pistol into the air. The worker jumped and threw himself on the ground.

"Wilkins, take 'em back to the wagon," he ordered, "The rest of you, upstairs! Come on, _let's move! Move!_ "

* * *

For years, I railed against what I perceived to be a threat; a menace. For that, I apologise. For the true menace worked in the shadows. The true menace was PURITY.

It must now be clear that President Fulton works for this organisation. That is the only thing that explain his strange about-turn towards these fascist policies, or how General Rausseman 'mysteriously' escaped Ford Leavenworth, or why we suddenly have mutant concentration camps. While his opponents have a chance of winning Congress in the coming midterms, we must face the fact that, for the foreseeable future, we have a Nazi president.

The people must defend themselves. If that means vigilantism, well, so be it.

This will probably be my last editorial. Under the Freedom of Truth Act, specifically designed to protect people from 'fake news', this newspaper will be shut down, and I fully expect to be dragged off to some kind of re-education camp. I've been in this business for decades now; there isn't much I regret.

But I regret that I allowed myself to be blind to the truth. So on behalf of this newspaper, but mainly on behalf of myself, I say this;

Spider-Man, I am sorry.

* * *

The SWAT team charged through the Daily Bugle offices, bound for J. Jonah Jameson's office. Desks were being overturned - one unfortunate reporter was being pounded by an officer's baton. It would seem almost like a parody of a dystopian state if it were not actually happening.

The team reached the door - the leader thundered at his team to stack up (providing the poor reporter with a reprieve from his 'resistance.')

"Okay, protocol check?" asked one, "We taking him alive?"

"Rausseman made it clear," replied the leader, "We drag him to the van, he 'breaks his cuffs', we 'defend ourselves.'"

"Right, right, a five-five-six breakfast," nodded the questioning officer.

"It's good for you," sneered a third, "Gotta a lot of iron in it."

"Shut up," grunted the leader, "Hendricks, get the door."

The questioning officer slapped an explosive charge on the wooden door, and they braced themselves.

"Fire in the hole!"

With a bang, the door disappeared into chunks of wood and splinters. The SWAT troopers charged in, two at a time, until all eight of them trained their guns on the back of Jameson's chair. The editor himself was staring out the window - they could not see his face.

"Unless you've got pictures of Spider-Man, I'm not interested," he said gruffly.

"Shut it, old man," snarled the leader, "You're under arrest for violation of the Freedom of Truth Act."

"Is that right?" growled Jameson, "Is that right? Well, you've got one problem with that."

The chair swung around.

"I'm not Jameson," declared Ford, "Although I'm told I sound a lot like him."

"Shit, it's Stanford Pines!" exclaimed the leader.

"Control, we got eyes on Pines, what do we do?" Hendricks barked into his radio.

" _What do you mean 'what do we do?' Shoot him, god damn it!_ "

"Hmm," nodded Ford as the SWAT officers raised their guns again, "I'm afraid we'll have to appeal that decision."

" _We?_ "

A web burst from the roof, yanking away the leader officer's shotgun. He looked up - Spider-Man clung to the corner of the ceiling.

"Morning, officer!" he said cheerfully.

Another figure appeared behind Jameson's desk, growing larger and larger until she was the size of a teenage girl; Ms Marvel grinned and cracked her knuckles. On the other side of the desk, Jimmy Neutron flicked into view as he deactivated his cloaking device. The purple phone on the desk glowed, and formed into the short, purple, long-haired form of Amethyst.

"'Sup, dudes," she said, "Time for a pounding?"

"What the... who the hell do you think you are?!" spluttered the lead officer.

"Us?" replied Kamala, "We're the Resistance."

* * *

Before I sign off, I want to appeal to you all. Resist. You don't have to take up guns, and honestly most of you shouldn't. But you can protest. You can spread the word. Perhaps most importantly, you still have a vote. I don't care if you are a Democrat or a Republican or any other party; if you still believe in this republic, if you still believe in what this nation stands for, _resist_.

You may not think you're in danger; you're not a mutant, an Inhuman, a superhero or a subversive. I thought those things too.

But they came for me. And they will come for you.

Resist.

J. Jonah Jameson  
Editor-in-Chief  
 _Daily Bugle_

* * *

The camera static cleared, and one could see Ford's face in the camera.

" _My name is Dr. Ford Pines,_ " he said, " _PURITY, in alliance with President Fulton's regime, killed my brother. This message is for them._ "

The camera zoomed out, revealing himself, Peter, Kamala, Jimmy, Amethyst... and a pile of bruised, webbed, entangled or otherwise incapacitated SWAT officers.

" _We are the Resistance,_ " he said, " _And we are still here._ "

The TV turned off, leaving the cave hideout in darkness. The viewer sighed.

"If only you knew, Stanford."

The figure looked down at his fingers as they began to glow a brilliant, fiery red.

"If only you knew," said Stan.

* * *

AN: Make the world free. Free for pictures. Pictures of Spider-Man.


	6. 06 10 18: Cause and Defect

what's a tomska

* * *

 **06/10/18: Cause and Defect**

"What a lovely day!" declared Timmy, "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, Vicky's off in Europe somewhere... what a perfect day to hold an awesome party with _all of my friends!_ "

He was sitting on the couch in his living room with Chester and AJ. They were doing nothing, and a cricket could be heard in the distance.

"Yep," said Chester dryly, "We're living the life."

"These are the golden years," muttered AJ.

"Okay, so I'm not as popular as I think I am," said Timmy, "But you know what? I've got interdimensional friends, and I can invite _them_ too!"

"You sure that's a good idea?" asked AJ, "Every time they come together, some kind of horrible disaster happens."

"Yeah, for an average kid that no one understands, you've sure got a _lot_ of mortal enemies," added Chester.

"Hey, come on, it doesn't _have_ to be like that," replied Timmy, "Tell you what, I'll play it safe. Let's call..." he pulled out his recaller, "... _Jimmy._ "

There was a sudden flash of light. A tall, large-haired person with an epic beard appeared in the room, clad in dusty red-and-yellow armour. He dropped his enormous energy rifle and waved his arms frantically.

"Don't invite me over today!" the future Jimmy yelled.

"And you are?" demanded Timmy.

" _Duh_ , it's obviously _future Jimmy_ ," replied Chester.

"While I'm at your house, Calamitous invades my lab and doses all my friends with megalomanium, leading to the destruction of Retroville and much of the known multiverse! The only way to prevent him from dominating the entire cosmos is to make sure that I'm there to keep him out of the lab!"

"Well, that sounds bad," nodded Timmy.

" _And_ oddly familiar," added Chester, "But I think the big question is, are _we_ okay in this future?"

"Yeah, are we cool?" asked Timmy.

"You two had your internal organs harvested for a Havoc Machine, your brains kept alive but without any external stimuli for twelve years," replied Jimmy, pointing to Chester and AJ, "And Timmy is genetically spliced with a ferret."

"So I become a cool ferret-man?"

"No, you become a writhing blob of horribly mismatched DNA, begging for death."

Timmy blinked.

"... _okay_ , guess I'm not inviting Jimmy, then," he nodded, "But Danny and Spongebob should be fine-"

There was another flash. An older Sandy appeared, decked out in a flak vest, a large khaki backpack, a red bandana around her forehead and a huge machine gun. The backpack opened, and Spongebob emerged; he had an eyepatch and some mutton chops.

"Don't invite Danny and Spongebob!" exclaimed Sandy, "If y'all do, Dan Phantom escapes and blows up your house, killing everyone but Danny and Spongebob and ensuring his own future."

"Also I lost an eye," added Spongebob, "Sometimes I really miss ol' righty."

"So, we're dead in that future, too," nodded Timmy, " _Cool._ I guess I..."

"Wait, what do you mean _this_ future?" demanded Sandy.

"Yeah, you're actually the second person to ask him not to do something," shrugged Jimmy, "Though it seems in both our futures our friends turn evil, so there's a fascinating commonality there."

"We'll have to swap notes," nodded Sandy.

"Okay, so I can't invite any of my Nicktoon friends," grumbled Timmy, "So that's nice. Uh... heck it, I'll see if Dipper's free-"

There was another flash.

"Oh, _come on!_ " exclaimed Timmy.

When the flash cleared, he could see Mabel Pines, older and buffer, the sleeves on her sweater torn off. She carried a shining sword and shield. Next to her was Pacifica Northwest, dressed in shining medieval armour.

"Don't invite Dipper!" shouted Mabel, "He gets distracted by your call and walks off a cliff, which means he can't be the Chosen One when an Unspecified Evil Spirit comes to destroy the world!"

"So he died too?" exclaimed Timmy, frustrated.

"Well, he ended up in a coma, and Ford managed to fuse him with Wendy in an attempt to maintain the prophecy," shrugged Pacifica, "But it turned out Wendipper didn't really count. It was... it was _specific._ "

" _Wendipper?_ " Timmy spluttered.

"Eh, it beats Dipendy."

"That's what _I_ said," nodded Mabel.

"Okay," sighed Timmy, "Maybe I'll call _you_ and you can-"

Flash.

"Don't call Mabel!" exclaimed a tall, reddish-brown haired person in a sleeveless vest and a flannel shirt, a pine-tree hat on their head, "It causes Weirdmageddon II!"

" ** _Why?!_** " screamed Timmy.

"Wait, you're Wendipper, right?" asked AJ, "But... why did you fuse in your timeline?"

Wendipper shrugged.

"Ford needed a test subject," they replied, "We were bored, it all sort of came together..."

Mabel grinned and leaned over to Pacifica.

"You ever consider _Mabifica?_ " she asked.

"...I'll think about it," shrugged Pacifica.

"Wait a minute," said Timmy, "Weird fusion junk... _Steven!_ Nothing bad can happen with..."

Flash.

An older Steven and Connie appeared, both in pink armour, the latter carrying a huge teal sword. They were both covered in scars and bruises - Connie's left eye was blind and Steven had a magnificent moustache.

"Don't invite us!" exclaimed Connie, "Otherwise Homeworld invades the Earth!"

"And they cancel _Crying Breakfast Friends!_ " added Steven, "And enslave everyone, which is even worse!"

Timmy sighed and buried his head in his hands.

"Okay," he said, "Is there anyone I can invite that won't cause unimaginable horrors?"

The future people glanced at each other and shrugged.

"Well, let me try... uh... Dib?"

Flash.

" _Zim wins!_ " exclaimed Dib.

"Wirt?"

Flash.

"Everyone is _trees!_ " moaned Wirt.

"Arnold?"

Flash.

"Rampant hyperinflation!" shouted Arnold.

"Ugh... heck, is it worth asking Trixie or..."

Flash.

"It's your kids, Timmy!" exclaimed an older AJ, his head covered by a messy shock of white hair, "Something's gotta be done about your kids!"

"Alright, _alright!_ " screamed Timmy, "I just won't invite _anybody_ , okay?!"

He stood up, clutching his hair.

"You know what?" he exclaimed, "I'm gonna do the unthinkable. _I'm going outside_ , and I-"

There was a flash.

"Don't go outside!" a beared future Timmy screamed.

" ** _WHY NOT?!_** " thundered Timmy.

Future Timmy regarded his past counterpart with sorrowful eyes.

"You get a sunburn," he replied, "And it _smarts_."

* * *

"Well, that story went well," I declared, "Now to post it on fanfiction and get back to my... hang on, what's this email?"

I clicked open the email.

" _I'm being sued by Tomska?!_ "

* * *

AN: Time travel. Not even once.


	7. 07 10 18: The Great Chain

Okay, full disclosure, I overslept today, so I took an old draft and cleaned it up a bit. This one's based on an idea I saw on AO3 that Bill and Stan are the same entity, constantly looping in time, but I decided to run with something a _little_ different...

* * *

 **07/10/18: The Great Chain**

"I don't want this. Not anymore."

Stanford Filbrick Pines was a man of action - he did rather than thought, which was a tad strange, considering he was a scientist by trade. When he'd crossed the multiverse, trying to find a way to defeat Bill Cipher, he'd jumped upon immortality. Cipher was eternal, he was simply levelling the playing field. They would fight, for eons if necessary, for the fate of reality. Forever intertwined; hero and villain; Holmes and Moriarity.

Except he hadn't been Holmes, in the end. He'd barely been Watson, or even Lestrade. Stanley had been the hero who vanquished Bill, and he was just… the brother of the hero. And that was fine.

But time went on and on and on and on and _on._

He'd offered Stanley the option of infinity, but he'd refused - he'd settled down, found himself a family once again, and he couldn't bear to watch them all die. Besides, he had fifty bucks riding on there being an afterlife, and Stanley Pines never backed out of a bet. He died peacefully at ninety, and Ford mourned. In many ways, he never stopped mourning.

The rest of his family faded one by one. He lost track of McGucket - he left Gravity Falls, said he had to do some thinking. Mabel and Pacifica had fallen in love, gotten married and drifted away too, and it was to his immense shame that Ford fell out of contact with them too. Dipper and Wendy stayed longer, but one morning they simply vanished - a missing time tape gave some clue as to their fate, but that was about it. Soos and Melody lived long lives and had seven children, one to love each day of the week - he'd buried the mechanic, Stan's son, behind the Shack as he'd always wanted.

For a few generations, he'd lived with the Ramirez family, but eventually they'd all moved on. After that, he travelled - and _oh_ , the things he had seen. The first ships taking off from Cape Canaveral to colonise Mars, Venus, Alpha Centauri. The flooded, abandoned ruins of Venice, still beautiful so long after the last humans had left. The final end of the American Empire, and the mushroom cloud rising over New York City. The court of the Mutant Napoleon, the eight dynasties of Evlopea, the rise and fall of the Third British Empire. And eventually, there came Time Baby's eighty centuries of domination.

In time, humanity vanished - not a great extinction event, but the product of mutations, augmentation, migration. The Earth stood deserted, and eventually was swallowed by its own sun. Galactic civilisations rose and fell, heroes lived and died, and eventually, one by one, the stars began to go out.

And now he was here, in the dark void that was once existence, waiting for the next Big Bang and the next universe, and feeling utterly, utterly exhausted.

He wasn't entirely alone, mind. The Axolotl floated with him, beady eyes gazing into him. They were all that was left, aside from him - or perhaps they were just an image, projected into Ford's universe by a creature beyond comprehension. Who really knew?

"I don't regret living this long," Ford admitted, "I've seen so many things, but… I can't do this anymore. I'm… I'm _so tired._ "

The Axolotl blinked.

" _I cannot do that, Stanford,_ " they said, " _You were promised forever. Forever you will get._ "

Ford opened his mouth to reply, but the Axolotl spoke again.

" _However,_ " they said, " _I can promise you something else. A new form, a new identity. The memories and intellect of Stanford Pines, but with a new personality. You would be you, but you would not be you…_ "

"I could start anew," mused Ford.

He nodded.

"Do it," he said, "Please."

" _You may not like what you become._ "

"I'm prepared to roll the dice."

The Axolotl nodded.

" _Very well._ "

Ford felt a stinging in his forehead, just under his skin - the metal plate, he thought. Perhaps the Axolotl needed to be rid of it, before…

 _Pain_.

Searing, pulsing, throbbing, unbearable pain, so potent he could not even scream.

His body burned like a Roman candle, every aspect of his physical form annihilated in an instant that took eons. His mind ripped and tore like it had been placed in a blender, every memory and thought screaming, shrieking, jumbling up into a totally incoherent mess. Desperately he grasped for something, anything that could provide stability, and grabbed onto a single memory as though it were his only salvation.

 _"_ _I feel like I should come up with a nickname for you. I mean, Stanley has a hundred…_ "

" _It's fine, Great Uncle Ford - heck, you're the only person who ever uses my real name, so…_ "

" _True, true, good point, Mason. Still, Mabel, I reckon I should think of one for you…_ "

He… no, they weren't that anymore, felt the pain die down. They didn't have a body anymore, so to speak - they were a single object floating in the gloom, their entire essence encased within. In time, they would emerge - and then they would create others like them…

There was a bang, incomprehensible in scale. The thing that had been Ford watched it in disinterest - it'd be billions of years before anything interesting happened anyway. Better to sleep. Better to wait.

But first, they needed a name.

They thought back to the memory once more - one of millions of Ford's own thoughts, but the only one that still seemed… _significant._

" _Grunkle Ford, you don't have to…_ "

" _Well, let me think, Mabel. You're bright, friendly, a natural leader… uh… you're the star on the zodiac, so… no, definitely not, that's what Bill called you. Hmm… I've got it!_ "

The being decided on a name - the same name of the substance that she was now formed from - and contentedly drifted off into unconsciousness.

" _I'm going to call you…_ _ **Starlight.**_ "

* * *

AN: _oh my god he's become david bowie!_

no no wait that's star _man_.

(He became White Diamond, because I'm not sure how clear that is in the text)


	8. 08 10 18: The Camping Episode

I can't believe I've done eight Halloween Unspectaculars and never done a camp story.

* * *

 **08/10/18: The Camping Episode**

The bus rolled under the Camp Voorhees sign and into the parking lot, pulling up next to the assembled camp councillors. The door opened, and the collection of teenagers alighted. Danny took in the crisp mountain air and closed his eyes.

"Nothing like getting away from everything, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, but should we really be leaving Amity Park unprotected?" asked Sam.

"Eh, Tucker can handle it while we're gone," shrugged Danny.

* * *

Tucker sat on his computer as outside Amity Park burned. Sirens wailed as the ghosts ran amok, but Tucker was fixated on the fanfiction he had just read.

"That ending just wasn't clear enough," he grunted.

* * *

Danny and Sam had gathered in the meeting hall, waiting for the camp director to speak. Before long he had arrived, stepping up onto the wooden podium and casually laying his meat cleaver down on a nearby table.

"Greetings, teenagers, I am Sideshow Bob," he said cheerfully, "For the next four weeks, I will be your guide, your leader, your trusted uncle and your pal."

His expression darkened.

"And potentially your brutal murderer," he muttered under his breath.

He instantly brightened up.

"Now, behind me you will see your councillors," he continued, "Let's have a warm Camp Voorhees welcome to Cannibal Crowley, Ann 'Teenskinner' Bloode, Fireaxe Franklin and, uh, Hugh."

The councillors all growled and waved weapons, save for Hugh, who smiled and waved.

"Now, if everyone will join me for our camp song," continued Bob, "It's set to the Battle Hymn of the Republic, so you should have no trouble keeping up."

He took a deep breath.

"And a one, and a two, and a one, two, three, four…"

* * *

 _We are the happy campers who live out at Camp Voorhees,_

 _We live and learn and laugh and play among the redwood trees,_

 _We live a life of freedom and we do just as we please,_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

* * *

"Hey… hey dude… there's free pizza behind that creepy old farmhouse."

Jimbo, Kearney and Dolph looked towards an old, creaky wooden house. On a tree next to the building there was a sign; 'FREE PIZZA NOT A TRAP ENQUIRE IN SHED BEHIND HOUSE COME ALONE.' On the porch of the house, an elderly man swayed back and forth on a rocking chair, chuckling to himself as he rubbed his old shotgun.

"I dunno, this looks kinda weird," mused Dolph.

"Hey, old man!" called Kearney, "What kinda pizza you got?"

"Raw possum!" the man shouted back.

The three teens looked at each other.

"Yeah," nodded Jimbo, "Seems legit."

With that, they cheerfully wandered behind the house, leaving the old man alone.

"Hot dog!" he exclaimed, "Clara! We'll be makin' wallets from their hides tonight!"

* * *

 _We've learned to swim and sail upon the waves of Lake Renown,_

 _Where a hundred years ago today a bunch of kids did drown,_

 _If you visit after midnight, their ghosts will drag you down,_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

* * *

"Sideshow Bob?"

Sadie knocked on the door of Bob's hut. A few seconds later, the door opened, and a sleepy Bob, clad in dressing gown, stumbled out.

"This had better be good," he grumbled, "I was reading a high concept novel, not that you'd understand."

Sadie briefly glimpsed a copy of _Worldwar: In The Balance_ behind his back.

"Yeah, um," Sadie rubbed the back of her head, "So Lars insulted a bush wizard, and everyone in my cabin turned into vintage postcards overnight…"

She pulled a half-dozen black-and-white postcards out of her jacket, handing them to Bob. He flipped through them - Lars, Ronaldo, Robbie Valentino, Valerie Grey, Jane and Vicky were frozen in place on the card surface, trapped in various old-timey wilderness poses.

"Do we have some kind of anti-supernatural or ghost busting service?" she asked.

"No, the State doesn't allow for that," grunted Bob, "You'll have to contact Mystery Inc."

"And what do I do until they get there?" asked Sadie, "I mean, I don't wanna go back to my cabin, in case I turn into a frog or a goat or something."

"Understandable," nodded Bob, "That's why I'm sending you to the Cabin Over The Temporal Rift From Which No One Has Ever Emerged. Now leave me to my book."

He shut the door.

"Oh," said Sadie hesitantly, "That's… _thanks?_ "

* * *

 _At the kitchens they are feeding us, to keep us fit and sane,_

 _But the mystery meat we do not know from what or where it came,_

 _But cow or man, it's edible, why bother to complain?_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

* * *

" _HELP! THERE'S A THREE-HEADED BEAR IN HERE!_ "

Nate, Lee and Tambry stood outside the locked outhouse, listening to Thompson's screams.

"A three-headed bear?" mused Tambry, "So, like, a Cerberbear?"

"Nah, I think it'd be more of a Cerberursa," replied Nate, "Cause, y'know, it's gotta sound classical."

"What do you think, Thompson?" asked Lee.

" _I DON'T CARE WHAT IT IS, IT'S GNAWING ON MY SPLEEN!_ " exclaimed Thompson.

"How'd it get in there, anyway?" asked Tambry, "It's an outhouse. It's, like, three square feet, maybe?"

Lee snapped his fingers. "Bigger on the inside."

"Hey Thompson, does it look like a Time Lord?" asked Nate.

" _OH MY GOD IT'S EATING MY FOOT! OPEN THE DOOR, FOR THE LOVE OF- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!_ "

There was a long silence.

"Oh wait, hold on, it's a badger. False alarm guys, it's just a badger!" called Thompson, "I mean, it's a honey badger, so it still smarts, but hey, not a bear."

"See, there's no such thing as a Cerberursa!" Tambry called back, "You're just imagining things!"

"Ha ha, yeah, boy is my face red… seriously though, can you get the camp doctor? I've lost a _lot_ of blood."

* * *

 _There's a church atop a hilltop, the wealthy men meet there,_

 _They gather in their cloaks and robes and raise their voice in prayer,_

 _To summon ancient gods to Earth, reality they tear,_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

* * *

"So, who raised the dead?" Sour Cream asked casually, firing an old Garand rifle into the horde of zombies below.

"Wasn't me," shrugged Wirt, taking potshots with a crossbow, "How about you guys?"

"Nope," said Jenny Pizza, laying down fire with a tommy gun.

"Nuh-uh," said Wendy, who carried a longbow.

"No," said Buck, shooting dual pistols into the undead mass.

All eyes fell on Hugh, who was hiding in the chimney, his head poking out over the top.

"Well, we all make mistakes, now don't we?" he said sheepishly.

"Okay, this is boring," grunted Wendy, throwing the longbow away, "Time to give this a shot."

She picked up an enormous iron sword.

"Wait, isn't that Excalibur?" exclaimed Wirt.

"Yep," nodded Wendy, "Found it in the lake. Cover me, guys."

She took a running jump of the roof, screaming a war cry as she dropped down on the horde. The others watched, perplexed, as she got stuck in, slaying zombie after zombie without breaking a sweat.

"Okay," said Jenny, "I got to say it, I'm crushing on her a bit right now."

* * *

 _So mother dear, I'm doing fine, there's not a thing to fear,_

 _The cannibals are far away and the 'squatch is steering clear,_

 _As long as Bob remains in charge, we're quartered safe out here,_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Glory, glory to Camp Voorhees!_

 _Through the hills we're hiking on._

* * *

"Okay," said Danny, pressing his back against the wall to keep away from a knife-wielding Bob and tugging at the Plasmius Maximus, "Next year, I'm just going to Florida."

"Same," Sam agreed.

* * *

AN: I went to camp once!

 _..._

 _Never again._


	9. 09 10 18: Incident Report X7

In many ways, this is just spitballing to see if an SU/XCOM fanfic would work. :P

* * *

 **09/10/18: Incident Report X7**

-THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL IS CLASSIFIED - LEVEL SEVEN ACCESS ONLY-

To; CMDR Bennett, C/OFF Bradford and DRs Vahlen and Shen  
From; APOLLO (Council Agent One-Thirteen)  
Subject; OCEAN TOWN INFECTION SITE

I have arrived at the infection site and made a preliminary tour of the quarantine wards. I have also discussed the matter in-depth with Col. Hartford (Marine Corps, Site Commandant) and Dr. Maheswaran (Acting Chief Medical Officer.)

As far as can be ascertained, the infection began at roughly 0200h yesterday morning - this corresponds with the crash of UFO-1 in rural Delaware. Patient Zero has been identified as Jennifer Pizza of Beach City, who appears to have passed the infection on to her family, several acquaintances, and staff and patients at the Crossroads General Hospital (since evacuated.) By about 0800h, the number of cases was doubling every hour. At 1500h, the Governor declared a state of emergency and activated the National Guard, but at that stage, the nature of infection was not fully known and thus the contagion spread to many guardsmen.

At 2300h, the President dispatched 5th Marine Regiment to the area and declared states of emergency in Delaware and Maryland, with heightened alerts in Pennsylvania, Virginia, New Jersey and the District of Columbia.

I spoke at length with Col. Hartford before entering the quarantine wards. He informs me that the contagion is not airborne or waterborne, but rather is spread by touch. This makes attempts at operating on the infected hazardous. All staff on site have been issued with surplus Kevlar gloves for handling patients, and the Marines and National Guard dispatched to bring in further patients are deployed in full NBC gear to prevent any skin contact. He has not been told what caused the initial infection.

The status of patients roughly corresponds with that of Council and X-COM operatives exposed to material from UFO-3. All persons infected fall into a state of absolute catatonia within two minutes of exposure. After half-an-hour, their sweat glands and tear ducts begin to produce a thick, slimy blue substance, which has been compared to tar. Both eyeballs are dyed black. Saliva turns lime green, and the patient begins to drool uncontrollably. All of these fluids create an overpowering odour comparable to rancid meat. After two hours, pussy, white boils form on the skin, particularly around the neck, armpits, hands and feet, and around the thighs.

I was shown a x-ray of Patient 23-926, but as I am not a doctor by trade, I am unable to determine the extent of infection within the body. I have forwarded this to the science team.

[Examined x-ray. Bulbous growths on heart, lungs and intestines. Distortion of frontal lobe. Bone marrow depleted. Will need a live subject to test further, but frankly incredible that any infected person could still be alive. - MV]

At the present time, there are one hundred and seventy cases at the infection site, having been moved from Ocean Town, Beach City, Charm City and several other smaller towns. Col. Hartford informs me that, at present, there are about two hundred missing persons in the region believed to be infected.

Dr. Maheswaran informs me that none of her attempted treatments have yielded results, positive or negative, and that morale among medical personnel is extremely low. There is a general sense of hopelessness and, to an extent, hysteria in the camp at this time. At the displaced persons camp at Charm City, I am told several people spoke of forming vigilante mobs to deal with 'aliens', who they believe caused the infection. I advise informing personnel at UFO-1 of this.

I am informed that a small sample of the population appear to be immune to infection. If this is true, finding them and bringing them in should be our top priority. They may hold the key to curing the infection.

I will remain on site, under my guise as a FEMA official, until otherwise instructed.

APOLLO.

* * *

To; CMDR Bennett, C/OFF Bradford and DRs Vahlen and Shen  
From; APOLLO (Council Agent One-Thirteen)  
Subject; PATIENT ZERO

As requested, Patient Zero is being moved to X-COM HQ ASAP. While Col. Hartford has been informed that she is being moved to a CDC installation, it has been deemed necessary by both myself and the Council for Dr. Maheswaran to be moved with her. As of now, she is a Council agent and should be treated as such.

Infections seem to be easing off thanks to the cordon. I do not believe that it will last indefinitely, and the public will not be convinced by our 'bird flu' cover story for long. A cure _must_ be found to prevent mass societal disruption in the United States.

APOLLO

* * *

To; The Council [SPECIFIC NAMES CLASSIFIED - LEVEL EIGHT ACCESS REQUIRED]  
From; CMDR Thomas Bennett  
Subject; DELMARVA INFECTION

I would have very much appreciated being informed ahead of time that you were sending more than one person over with Patient Zero - or indeed, more than one patient. Delighted as I am to have three unknown aliens wandering around my base, I would have liked to have been able to prepare for them.

That having been said, Doctor Vahlen seems to be very interested in your second patient. Apparently, the boy has some kind of life-sustaining gemstone in his stomach, which is reacting in strange and wonderful ways to the infection. Even if he were not infected, she tells me, he would be an extremely exciting specimen. I do not believe she would run an autopsy on a child, but I have made note to explicitly prohibit it nonetheless.

As for Patient Zero, Doctor Vahlen informs me that there is significant REM, which is invisible to conventional medical equipment due to the matte black colouring of the eyeball. There is also very significant activity in the brain; she tells me that, rather to corresponding to being asleep or in a coma, her brain activity is similar to what you might see in a situation immense and deliberate thought. Her hypothesis is that Patient Zero's brain is being tapped into like a kind of psyonic conduit, and that if the central node can be found, the infection may clear up on its own.

I have ordered the ship's computer from UFO-3 to be sent here for study by Doctor Shen. With any luck, he should be able to find us something.

* * *

To; CMDR Bennett  
From; C/OFF Bradford  
Subj: GEMS

Commander,

Dr. Vahlen and I have completed our interviews with the Crystal Gems, and we believe they may be of significant assistance to X-COM. All of them are skilled fighters with their own weapons - if we employed them on the field, they would be able to double our firepower without straining our logistical capabilities.

It's an amazing opportunity commander. I know some of our soldiers are wary about working with X-Rays, but these three live on Earth, and it looks like they're ready to defend it.

Bradford.

* * *

To; C/OFF Bradford  
From; CMDR Bennett  
Subj: RE; GEMS

Bradford,

Approved.

Bennett.

* * *

To; CMDR Bennett  
From; DR Shen  
SUBJ; SHIP'S COMPUTER

Commander,

My team as pinpointed the Central Node. The result is decidedly disturbing. It appears that it's coming from a laboratory in Milan operated by a shell company with suspected connections with EXALT.

Please find the coordinates attached.

Raymond Shen.

* * *

To; DR Shen  
From; CMDR Bennett  
SUBJ; RE; SHIP'S COMPUTER

Dr. Shen,

You have my gratitude. Strike-One will be deployed ASAP. Let's see how they like our new friends.

Bennett.

* * *

To; CMDR Bennett  
From; DR Vahlen  
SUBJ; IMMUNITY

Commander,

I have performed rudimentary tests on Dr. Maheswaran's daughter Connie. I have not yet determined why she has proven immune to the infection; physically, she's as normal as you and me. However, I do find her fascinating nonetheless - at sixteen, she is already a master swordswoman, and she has repeatedly mentioned the possibility of deployment against EXALT in the field. Pearl seems to believe she is up for the task, but I will leave that for you to decide.

MV

* * *

To; DR Vahlen  
From; CMDR Bennett  
SUBJ; FW; IMMUNITY

Dr. Vahlen,

I am more than a little wary of deploying teenagers, even exceptionally skilled teenagers, on the battlefield.

Pearl has approached me regarding this, and has left me to conclude that she probably can handle herself, providing we supplied her with armour and equipment, but I will not allow it without explicit permission from Dr. Maheswaran. As she is already preoccupied with the infection, and given that her own husband is one of those infected, I have deemed it imprudent to discuss this matter at this time.

Bennett.

* * *

OPERATION SWIFT JUSTICE - MILAN, ITALY, MARCH 27 - STRIKE-ONE HELMET CAMS

SGT. ASHLEY HERNANDEZ [CANADA]: EXALT sighted. Three on the balcony, about another seven in the courtyard. Looks like they got some kind of automated turret on the door.

LT. CHARLES EDWARDS [BRITAIN]: Understood. Garnet, reckon you can take 'em?

CPL. KARL ULRICH [GERMANY]: What, we're trusting the damn X-Ray?

GARNET: Yeah. We can take them. Gems!

[GARNET charges forward, heading straight for the turret. She forms her gauntlets and punches with both fists, instantly smashing it into pieces.]

ULRICH: Holy [expletive deleted]!

[The EXALT troopers raise their weapons, at which point AMETHYST advances. She produces her whip and swings, literally hogtying the EXALT men in the courtyard. The three snipers on the balcony aim their rifles at her. It is at this point that PEARL leaps onto the balcony, spear drawn. She quickly dispatches them, one after the other, before they can fire. This is followed by a long silence.]

HERNANDEZ: Wow, I... okay, _wow._

EDWARDS: Um... courtyard clear, we're advancing into the lab.

AMETHYST: [dusting off hands] Yep, that's how it's done.

* * *

AFTER ACTION REPORT - OPERATION SWIFT JUSTICE

...at which point Edwards dispatched the base commander.

The destruction of the node was immediately followed by improvements in the condition of both Patient Zero and Patient One. Within an hour, all of their fluids had returned to normal, and by 1700h their internal organs were functional normally. Patient One awoke first at 1752h, at about the same time as Strike-One returned from Milan. He was reunited with the Gems as well as Dr. Maheswaran and her daughter. Patient Zero awoke ten minutes later. Reports from APOLLO indicate similar healing has occurred in Delmarva.

As EXALT troopers still refuse to be taken alive, it is impossible to know exactly what they were trying to do with this infection, how they got the required technology, or if the harmful side effects were intended. If we can ever find where they're operating from, we may find related files there. For now, we can at least be satisfied that we've stopped a major pandemic.

Bradford.

* * *

TO; Dr. Vahlen, Pearl  
FROM; CMDR Bennett  
SUBJ; DEPLOYMENT

I've spoken with Priyanka.

I absolutely cannot believe you two have talked me into this, but I have officially approved the admittance of Steven Universe and Connie Maheswaran into the ranks of X-COM as Support and Assault troopers respectively. In respecting Universe's wishes, he will be deployed unarmed as a pure medic.

If anything happens to them, I will be holding the both of you responsible.

Bennett.

P.S.: If Bradford strangles me for approving this, I will endeavour to haunt you.

* * *

AMMENDUM; 12 MAY - DR MOIRA VAHLEN

Amending this file with new information (see; ACTIVATION OF CPT MAHESWARAN AS FIRST HUMAN PSYCHIC).

It is now believed that immunity to the Delmarva Infection and psyonic potential are directly connected.

Therefore, it is suggested that we recruit those who were immune to X-COM as candidates for the psyonic program...

* * *

AN: What do you think? If I did do one, it wouldn't be this idea exactly, but there'd be a lot of similarities (like Connie would definitely have psionic potential.)


	10. 10 10 18: E350 Presents: Rapunzel

Time to ruin some more fairy tales!

* * *

 **10/10/18: E350 Presents: Rapunzel**

Once upon a time, there lived a witch by the name of Dame Vicky, who owned a big walled garden in which she grew great quantities of rapunzel. She lived all alone, partially because witches were considered of ill-repute in those days, but mainly because she was a complete and utter tool. I mean, she really was a piece of work. Boy howdy, was she unpleasant.

I digress.

Next door to Dame Vicky, there lived a couple by the name of Northwest. Now, they weren't exactly strapped for cash either - they were, as it is said 'rolling in it,' having engaged in certain peculiar institutions in the West Indies. That wasn't enough for them - the wife, Priscilla, decided that she wanted Dame Vicky's rapunzel, would eat nothing but said rapunzel and if she didn't get it, she'd simply starve. Yes, this is actually something that happens in the original story.

Because he was cheap, the husband, Preston, decided to steal a bunch of rapunzel from the witch. Unfortunately but predictably, he was immediately caught.

"Dude, you literally could have just bought this," reminded Vicky.

"It's very much the principle of the thing," shrugged Preston, "I don't want to patronise my social inferiors."

"Good god you're a tool," said Vicky.

Nevertheless, she offered a deal. Preston could have all the rapunzel he wanted, if, in return, he sold her their newborn child.

"'Aight," said Preston.

And so their daughter was taken to a tower in the woods, with no door or stairs and but one window, to live forever alone. Actually, that raises an interesting question, doesn't it? If there's no stairs or ladders, how'd they get her up there in the first place? Did the witch have a broom? And if she did, why would she need to climb Rapunzel's hair? It just doesn't make a lot of sense!

I digress.

So the child, named Rapunzel but we'll just call her Pacifica because… _because,_ grew up in the tower, seen only by Dame Vicky. Many years passed. The Northwests moved, on account of no longer being important to this story, and Pacifica's hair grew long. It grew very long. The length of her hair was obscene. I mean, wow, that was a lot of hair. You could have stuffed a whole bunch of mattresses with it.

One day, a prince… wait, nah, let's say princess was wandering around the woods, as royalty are wont to do, when she encountered the tower. From the top, she could hear Pacifica singing, her voice echoing through the trees.

"This sounds like a fairy tale premise!" declared Princess Mabel, "Score!"

Therefore she waited in hiding until Dame Vicky turned up, and made her bold proclamation to Pacifica that she would let down her hair.

" _HEEEEEEEEY! TWEEEEERP! LET DOWN YOUR STINKIN' HAIR!"_

When night came, Princess Mabel repeated this call, and climbed Pacifica's hair into her chamber.

"'Sup," she said, "Name's Princess Mabel. I like pigs and glitter!"

"I am instantly infatuated with you," said Pacifica.

And thus, in true fairy tale fashion, they fell in love and began a deeply compassionate mutual relationship. Which is a bit unrealistic. I mean, how many people read fairy tales as kids and thought this was how love worked? We've set whole generations up with unrealistic expectations. It is as the Great Prophet Garnet said, love takes time and love takes work. How about we have her rewrite all the fairy tales with this in mind? Heck, I'd read them.

I digress.

After a whole three days of courtship, Mabel proposed to marry Pacifica, who instantly accepted. But the problem of Dame Vicky remained. Thus, they devised a plan. Each night, Mabel would give Pacifica a little bit of silk, with which she'd eventually forge a ladder so that she could climb down. Again, how did she get up in the first place?

Unfortunately, one day Dame Vicky arrived at an odd time, as there was a public burning of some Lollards taking place and she didn't want to miss that. She caught Pacifica in the act of sewing the ladder.

"That's a ladder!" exclaimed Dame Vicky.

"No it's not," Pacifica lied.

"How dumb do you think I am?" demanded Dame Vicky.

"Well, I was sort of hoping dumber than this," admitted Pacifica.

Thus, Dame Vicky flew into a rage. She cut off most of Pacifica's hair and threw her from the tower, casting her into the wastelands to fend for herself. When Mabel arrived, she used Pacifica's severed hair to haul her up.

"You're not Pacifica!" exclaimed Mabel.

"Yes!" declared Vicky, "And you'll never see her again! Never ever!"

"Never ever ever?!"

"Never ever ever ever!"

"Never ever ever ever ever?!"

"Never ever ever ever ever ever _times infinity!_ "

" _NOOOOOOOOOOO_ "

And Dame Vicky threw Princess Mabel off the tower into a thorn bush, whereupon she went blind for some reason.

"And that's the end of that chapter!" declared Dame Vicky.

She thought for a moment.

"Wait, how do I get down from here?" she asked herself.

And that's how she got stuck in the tower for the rest of her life.

For months, Mabel wandered the wilderness, still blind. She wasn't missing that much, though, because she was in Northamptonshire. Okay, that's a little unfair, Northamptonshire is a perfectly pleasant place. Normally I'd throw shade on Milton Keynes or Stevenage or another one of those 1950s New Towns here, but they wouldn't pop up for a few centuries. There really isn't a medieval-early modern equivalent of Milton Keynes, is there? Well, maybe Bristol.

I digress.

One day, Princess Mabel got lost in the New Forest, whereupon she heard Pacifica singing on the wind. She followed the sound, and finally found her beloved next to a big tree, on which was carved the words; 'William Rufus died here _totally accidentally I swear_ \- Walter Tirel."

"Pacifica!" she exclaimed, "It's you! I can tell by feeling your earlobes!"

"That's a little weird, but okay!" replied Pacifica joyously.

They embraced as Pacifica cried, and this healed Mabel's eyes for some reason.

"Wait, you have healing tears?" quizzed Mabel.

"I'm descended from King Stephen," replied Pacifica.

 _Ba-dump psh!_

Anyway, they returned to Princess Mabel's kingdom, where they eventually became co-ruling monarchs. I don't care if that's historically accurate - this story has witches, abnormally long hair and women who refuse to eat anything but rapunzel, you can suspend your disbelief for this.

And they lived happily ever after.

 **The En-**

Actually, I've got to question that phrase. 'Happily ever after?' Does that mean they live forever? Because if they grow old and die, they're not going to 'live' ever after, are they? It's more like, 'happily natural life after,' which I know isn't particularly good grammar, but it makes more sense. But then again, Mabel and Pacifica going around being immortal and getting into adventures does sound cool, if you take the phrase literally. But also, they can't have been happy all the time, can they? What if there was a famine or a plague? It'd be a bit weird if they were happy then, would it?

I digress.

 **The End**

* * *

AN: I was originally going for something by Hans Christian Anderson, but I looked through a few of his stories and... are you okay, Hans? Do you need to talk about it, Hans?


	11. 11 10 18: When The Going Gets Tough

AN: More plot, sort of!

* * *

 **11/10/18: When The Going Gets Tough**

The worst part was the constant stream of news.

On 2nd September, Lagos fell, opening the way for the US Army to advance towards Wakanda. On 15th September, the House passed the Freedom of Truth Act. On the 21st the Senate ratified it. The 26th was long and hectic - the First Battle of Wakanda had seen PURITY repulsed on the border, but only barely. On 2nd October, as a _preventative measure_ , US paratroops occupied Ottawa, Toronto and Vancouver - the Prime Minister, who had volunteered to be a go-between for Fulton and T'Challa, suddenly vanished. On the 6th, Ford had saved Jameson by the skin of his teeth, but other journalists had been arrested, and one had even been shot on air in Orange County. And now, Fulton had announced the second major offensive against Wakanda. He promised swift and decisive action - 'we'll have them by Halloween.'

It was getting hard to stay optimistic.

They had good days, of course. Connie had loved her time in Wakanda, experiencing one of the most advanced cities on Earth, and T'Challa and General Okoye had added a lot to her precious training with Pearl (she could use a spear now!) But part of her felt immensely guilty for living in shelter when others lived in fear, and on darker days - like today - wells of depression and anxiety built up within her.

She was sitting outside the office of Allied Supreme Command - the body that planned the war with Rausseman and Fulton. The discussion within sounded grim.

"We can offer you a company of tanks," one man - a Colonel Atkinson - was saying, "And at least a brigade of infantry, plus some fighter support from within RERE. But trying to get London to commit to more is like pulling teeth."

"And what about our other allies?" she heard T'Challa ask.

"Japan is willing to offer us surplus Type-10 tanks, but that's strictly off the record," Agent Coulson explained, "But they've got thousands of American troops deployed there against possible Chinese intervention. The Australians are nearly completely in America's camp, so we're getting nothing from them. We've got small, mostly infantry task forces from Italy, Spain, New Zealand, India and Vietnam."

"As it stands," added Okoye, "The bulk of our defences are still the Wakandan Army, with some SHIELD and RERE support. They're still recovering from the first battle."

There was a long silence.

"You can bring in some fighters?" asked T'Challa.

"Sixty GR.10 Harriers," replied Atkinson, "They've been something of a pet project for our R&D team. I reckon you'll like them."

"Sixty won't be enough," noted Okoye.

"It will have to be," said T'Challa simply.

Connie sighed, burying her head in her hands. She just couldn't keep listening to this. She had to get out.

She wandered through the advanced palace, back to the set of rooms that had been designated for herself and the other refugees from America. She found her room - perhaps barracks was a better term - largely empty. Danny Fenton was snoring away in his bunk, but otherwise, she was alone.

She wandered over to her bunk and lay down.

She missed her parents. They'd been smuggled out of the US by Wakandan agents, and originally had lived with her. But in late September, the air raids had begun, and while PURITY ordnance had no hope of penetrating the sturdy Wakandan buildings, their napalm and white phosphorous bombers wreaked havoc on unprotected pedestrians. Non-essential personnel were evacuated - apparently, Doug and Priyanka now lived with M'Baku in the mountains, which was at very least funny to imagine. But there was the fear, in the back of their mind, that if PURITY won…

What if she'd seen them for the last time?

"Connie?"

Connie sat up. Sapphire was standing in the door.

"Oh," she nodded, "Hey Sapphire. How're you holding up."

"I'm fine," replied Sapphire, "Or at least, as fine as I can be. How about you?"

"I'm good."

"No, you're not."

Connie sighed.

"Is that your future vision?" she asked.

"No," replied Sapphire, "It's obvious."

She walked over and sat down next to Connie.

"It can be hard not to feel like it's hopeless," she admitted, "Every time I close my eye, I see a hundred futures where we lose."

"And what does that look like?" asked Connie.

Sapphire paused for a moment.

"What I see," she replied, "Tells me why we have to fight."

Her hands gripped the side of the cot,

"Superhumans," she said, "Gems, mutants, inhumans - they're only the start. It's already turning into political opponents. After they've won… they'll keep finding new 'others,' forever and ever, because they'll need it to keep their society working. They'll always be killing someone because that's the only thing that can justify their existence."

She took a deep breath.

"There are so many wonderful life forms in the universe," she said, "Imagine PURITY's Earth unleashed on them. _That_ is why we have to win."

"But how can you keep going?" demanded Connie.

"Ruby," replied Sapphire, "I'm going to get her back."

"Can you see her?" asked Connie, "With your future vision, I mean?"

"No," said Sapphire, "But I know, deep down, she's alive."

The room suddenly cooled, and the cot around Sapphire's hands began to freeze.

"And if she's not," she declared, "I'm going to avenge her."

There was a long silence.

"As long as there's still to fight for," said Sapphire at last, "All of this is worth it. And besides, you never know when good news might come."

She smiled and stood up.

"Take a moment," she said, "Clear your head. I'll make sure no one disturbs you."

She walked away, leaving Connie alone.

Connie took a deep breath and closed her eyes - she cleared her mind. Slowly, she controlled her breathing - in, out, in, out… _Flexibility, love and trust…_

* * *

Dusk came, painting the sky like a brilliant red canvas. The PURITY bombers weren't yet overhead, and the distant air defence cannons were silent. Connie sat on the roof, gazing at the fiery texture of the clouds.

"Everything okay?"

Connie glanced back. Steven had emerged from the building - slowly, he walked over and sat down next to her. She nodded and smiled.

"Yeah," she replied, gently taking his hand. They looked back up towards the clouds, watching them slowly drift by.

"It's gonna be."

* * *

AN: It's always darkest before the dawn.


	12. 12 10 18: Troped

I cannot believe anyone could have wanted to make a TV Tropes page for this. I am infinitely grateful.

* * *

 **12/10/18: Troped**

Hi, I'm E350, author of Halloween Unspectacular and self-declared Tsar of Bulgaria. Today I'm in Melbourne. It's going well.

 _Smash cut to Flinders Street. Everything is on fire. An aircraft carrier has crashed next to the intersection with St. Kilda Road. Timmy stands atop the heritage tram, declaring himself the Tram Guardian. It's not as bad as it could be, basically._

As my time is regrettably limited, I thought I'd self-indulgently go through the HU TV Tropes page. I reckon it'll be good to kick back and discuss it, but also perhaps to clarify some things. Because clarification is fun, I guess.

Let us begin, shall we?

 _Butt-Monkey_ _: Squidward and Dib are the most frequent victims of having a lot of random bad stuff happen to them. Characters that E350 genuinely dislikes, like Gaz and Paulina, are close behind._

I do enjoy making characters suffer for comedy, I'll admit that – though I think it has to be proportionate. Squidward, basically, suffers because he invites it through being a jerk, and Dib… well, Dib's entertaining when he's agitated.

I do find it funny that Gaz is listed as a character I dislike, because, well, she's not – not in the same way Paulina is, at any rate. It's not so much that I hate her, although I find my opinion of her has declined over the years (especially after she burned my crops and poisoned my water supply, which was totally a thing that happened). It's just that comeuppance is fun, really.

 _Self-Deprecation_ _: E350 does this a lot._

That's because I'm a gibbon.

Okay, but seriously, making fun of yourself is easy because you already know your flaws, and how far you can push before it becomes bad taste. Plus, it keeps you humble, which will endear me to my subjects when I conquer the world with my supreme strategic genius.

 _"Conquer the world?" quizzed Sadie skeptically._

 _"It's a joke," I shrugged, "It's… it's a little jape, y'know."_

Note to self; bribe or eliminate Sadie.

 _The Nostalgia Critic_ _gets a few cameos in as well before getting an entire chapter to himself._

And boy howdy, do I regret this in the light of Change the Channel. Don't use real people in fanfic, kids, even if they're fictionalised!

 _What Happened to the Mouse?:_ _The final fate of Dipper and Mabel's parents isn't explained._

Their final fate, in all honesty, was me straight up forgetting they existed. So, um, let me clear this up now. They, uh… um… um…

 _I turned to Timmy._

 _"I ain't helping you outta this one," replied Timmy._

Uh… sea turtles, mate.

 _(Take That) In "A Sunday Drive Down Fury Road", E350 listens to OutKast's "Hey Ya!" in the car before Sandy grabs the CD and chucks it out the window. Also, he compares the Hume Highway to a barren, hellish landscape._

It was actually supposed to be 'What's Going On?' by Four Non-Blondes – the joke is that I'm re-enacting that He-Man meme and am also very bad at singing. As for the Hume Highway, I take nothing back. That road is a soulless, miserable experience and when one travels down it, they can feel their soul withering on the vine. It is a hot, barren, featureless, tarmac nightmare, and since they bypassed Holbrook, you can't even see the submarine there. And that was hilarious because Holbrook is three hundred kilometres inland, in the middle of the outback, and they have a submarine. And now the highway doesn't go there anymore.

A pox on the Hume.

 _Anvilicious_ _: Any story that centers on nukes tends to be this, as lampshaded by the author._

Well, that's because J. Robert Oppenheimer either killed or is my father.

 _"I thought your dad was a farmer?" said Sadie._

 _"Free-range isotopes," I replied._

Well, that's just about all I have time for. Please accept my humblest apologies about the length – I had intended to write some stories in advance, but fate and essays stood in the way.

Until next time, this is E350, king of the potato people, signing off.

* * *

AN: I might come back and do a little more like this later, if I get time.


	13. 13 10 18: The Dictator

Every section of this is exactly fifty words long, because experimenting is fun!

* * *

 **13/10/18: The Dictator**

The Dictator stands in the Oval Office. Once it was the centre of the free world. Now it is the Dictator's dream - an authoritarian nightmare.

A bureaucrat enters the Dictator's office. He salutes and begins to give his report.

All the while, the Dictator contemplates the rebirth of the nation.

* * *

Danny is captured. He languishes in a dark room, isolated from everything and half starved.

They tell him his family are dead. They forcefeed him thick liquids and tell him it's poison. He thinks it's a sick joke, but he can't be sure.

He wishes they'd get it over with.

* * *

The Dictator's men have cleared Wirt's town in the most final sense. He knows Greg has fled, but he's still here. He's led up with Sara to a blood-stained brick wall.

This is it.

They're lined up with other 'partisans.' He reaches out - he squeezes her hand.

The soldiers fire.

* * *

Jimmy's doing surprisingly well. The Dictator leaves him alone, for which he can't help but be grateful.

He suspects he's simply fits into the Dictator's worldview. He's smart, he reasonably self-sufficient, he's quite resourceful. He's not considered wrong - he's a net societal boon.

He wonders when he'll stop being useful.

* * *

Yesterday, Phoebe learned mathematics, English, sciences and arts in a normal school.

Today, she learned how to field strip an AK-47 in a wet, rainy forest north of Hillwood.

It was amazing and startling how quickly everything had changed. Even more terrifying is how quickly it's started to feel _normal_.

* * *

Pearl has become a perfomative art piece.

She walks the Dictator's palace with a collar around her neck, which causes her pain when she doesn't dance for the guests. She's less than an object to them.

But she _will_ hold her head up high. They will _not_ take her pride.

* * *

Pacifica sits in a London bar and watches the news, her fists clenched.

"The Prime Minister stated today that he was willing to reconsider the blockade of America, a move welcomed by the Dictator in Washington DC..."

She throws her drink at the TV in a fit of enraged disgust.

* * *

Just following orders.

Those three words get Kevin through every day. It's how he deals with the countless faces, men, women, children, seared into his mind's eye. The burning towns, the stench of the white phosphorus. He'd be _shot_ if he didn't - he can't be blamed!

 _He's just following orders._

* * *

The man on the pulpit screams fire and brimstone, but Marceline no longer fears hell. She lives it daily from the Freedom Brigade's propaganda.

She goes through the motions - says the Lord's Prayer and leaves. And at night, she goes underground to embrace the metal.

They can't keep her down.

* * *

Timmy is locked in a room with a Freedom Brigade officer.

"Timantha," he growls, "What is that supposed to be?"

"She's a character," Timmy lies.

He knows he won't buy it. He's seen the pictures, read his journal. Timmy's _finished_.

He lies anyway. He lies all the way to prison.

* * *

"You won't take me,"

The voice is worn but determined as the Dictator's men surround them. They have sword and shield drawn - they are drenched by rain.

"You don't stand a chance!" exclaims the sergeant, and Stevonnie laughs humourlessly.

"I don't care," they say, stepping forward, "You won't take me."

* * *

The Dictator waits in the shadows. They have many faces. They have lived time and time again, in Rome, Paris, Beijing, Berlin and Moscow.

The Dictator feeds on hate, on distrust, on division, on fear. If we allow those things to control us, than the Dictator can never be stopped.

* * *

AN: Also the Dictator is a butt.


	14. 14 10 18: There's An App For That

Apps, am I right?

* * *

 **14/10/18: There's An App For That**

"I did something horrible!"

Timmy raced into my living room, holding a tablet and gesticulating wildly. I looked up from my book.

"What happened?" I asked, "Did you brick my computer?"

"No, I trapped the souls of most of our friends, enemies and vague acquaintances in an app game!" replied Timmy.

"But my computer is fine?"

"Well... yes."

"Okay." I picked up my book and settled back down.

"But we've gotta help them!" exclaimed Timmy.

"Finish chapter first," I replied, " _Then_ save friends."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we around the table in the review room, looking over the app. I had invited a panel of experts to help us sort out this conundrum.

"I know this app, dude!" nodded Soos, "It's Candy Match Tap Blast Saga Unlimited! It makes thirty billion dollars a hour!"

"But it's a free app, isn't it?" quizzed Spongebob.

"Oh, Spongebob, you sweet summer child," sighed Connie, patting him on the back.

"Okay, how's this game work?" I asked, loading up the app.

"You've gotta build up your camp full of diverse hero archetypes," replied Timmy, "And you win more heroes and buildings by playing match games."

"So it's Bejewelled but trying to be cool," I nodded, "So, how do heroes come into this."

"You can use their abilities to clear the board," replied Timmy.

"Okay, I've finished making an account... hey, looks like it's made Cosmo our starting hero. He hasn't been in a chapter... of our lives for a while!"

I looked at the screen. A render of Cosmo flashed before me. "Corn is nice!" he exclaimed in a poor-quality sound bite.

"Okay, it's given me a free crate," I noted.

"Yeah, you're not getting anything from that," said Connie.

"Don't be so sure!" I replied, "I just got Dipper!"

"Check his power set," said Connie bluntly.

I did so.

"Um... he's got itchiness and social awkwardness," I read, "Um... does that help us?"

"Nah, dude, Dipper's a bottom-tier hero," replied Soos, "I mean, his attack stat is minus one!"

"Harsh," I winced.

"But not wrong," said Timmy.

"Okay, so I've just checked our quest," I said, "We've got to get eight hundred quadrillion points to free our friends. How much do we get from Cosmo and Dipper."

"Ten points a game," replied Connie.

"... _ah._ "

I tapped into the heroes menu.

"Let me just find a few top tier heroes," I suggested, "I mean, they can't be too expensive, right? Let me see... Sandy, Ford, Jorgen, Finn and Garnet should do, they have about a billion points a match between them, and if I get a bundle... Soos, how much is two million credits in real-money terms?"

"Thirty-six thousand dollars."

"Well, thank goodness I didn't sip my drink while you were saying that," I nodded, "Okay, let's play the game and see if we unlock something to help them."

I clicked to start a game, and was presented with a board of coloured gemstones. There were two buttons on the bottom to activate either Dipper or Cosmo's abilities. Out of habit, I tapped them both.

The results were disappointing. Cosmo once again cried "Corn is nice," and popped a single green gem next to him. Dipper was even less impressive; he squeaked out "Everything is different now," sweated a little and fell over without affecting anything.

" _Cool_ ," said Connie flatly, "Look, I think you're gonna have to pay money if we're gonna..."

"I'm not giving these cursed-game-making, money-grubbing, shovelware-peddling scumbags my credit card details," I snapped, "We're sitting here until we've got them out _honestly_.

"You know, you can get a booster for ten bucks," suggested Soos, "You can get four times score for one whole minute."

"Geez, who made this game?!" I exclaimed, "Mr. Krabs? Mr. Burns? Mr. _Monopoly?!_ "

* * *

Far away, in a dark, foreboding castle, the Blue-Haired Lawyer approached his boss. The boss' chair was turned away from him, gazing out the window at the shadowy landscape.

"My lord," he said, "Our soul-capturing hostage-taking plan has earned us trillions of dollars, and thanks to our airtight Terms and Conditions, the law is powerless to stop us."

"And Congress?" said the leader.

"You've been called before a Senate Subcommittee."

"So I've gotten away with it?"

"Basically."

"Good, good. I think I shall celebrate..."

The chair swung around.

"...by buying a hotel on Baltic Avenue!" declared Mr. Monopoly.

* * *

"Okay, that was an ordeal, but at least we've got... _ten points?!_ " I spluttered, "I thought we got ten _each!_ "

"Maybe it's something to do with that flashing box?" asked Spongebob.

I tapped on it, and an information panel flashed.

"Watch an ad to receive your full reward," I read, "Oh, you... _darned rascals._ "

I groaned and pressed the button.

* * *

 _We open to a shot of Beach Citywalk Fries on a normal summer day. Peedee stands outside, dressed as a standard surfer bro, complete with a surfboard that is clearly too big for him._

 _"_ _...I just don't think I'm…"_

 _"_ _Peedee, we're rolling!"_

 _"_ _Oh! Uh…"_

 _Peedee scratches his head._

 _"_ _Say_ , bro, _I've got the munchies for some bo… bode…" He squints at an invisible prompt board off screen. "..._ bodacious _grub."_

 _There is a long silence._

 _"_ _That's your cue, Ronaldo."_

 _"_ _Oh, right!"_

 _Ronaldo bursts onto the screen, arms outstretched._

 _"_ _Then why not go to Beach Citywalk Fries?!" he exclaims, "The best place in Beach City for lunch!"_

 _"_ _That's a lie and you know it, Fryman!"_ _Kofi bellows from off screen._

 _"_ _Wow, bro, that's… g-narly!" exclaims Peedee, "But I'm a young dude aged 18-25, and my demographic always wants to diversify our food palette!"_

 _"_ _Don't worry," replies Ronaldo, "There's plenty of variety, like…"_

 _The screen cuts to photographs of the various food items._

 _"_ _Curly fries! Ultra-straight fries! Chicken fries! Sweet potato fries! Avocado fries! And our newest and hottest sensation, Fire Salted Fries!"_

 _As the Fire Salted Fries flashes on screen, a note appears for a fraction of a second; Not_ FDA Approved. Beach Citywalk Fries waives all responsibility for damage to throat or intestinal tract.

 _"_ _Whoa, dude, that's really excellent!" exclaims Peedee, "And so affordable, I can buy it despite my crippling student loans."_

 _"_ _So come on down to Beach Citywalk Fries!" says Ronaldo, "Best food on the Boardwalk, guaranteed! And while you're there, why not ask about Keep Beach City Weird, Beach City's premier…"_

 _"_ _Ronaldo, we discussed this," Mr. Fryman says from behind the camera, "You can't hawk your blog on camera."_

 _"_ _But_ dad! _People need to know the_ truth!"

* * *

"Okay, that's twenty points," I sighed, "Connie, at this rate, how long is this going to take?"

Connie pulled out a calculator.

"Let's see... one minute, plus thirty seconds for the ad... eight hundred quadrillion divided by twenty... we're looking _aaaaat_... one hundred and fourteen thousand years."

"And if I were to pay my way past that, how much would I need?" I asked.

"Forty-six million dollars."

"I see."

I sat in silence for several minutes.

"Right," I declared, whipping out the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun, "We're robbing a bank."

"But-" Spongebob began.

"Shut up, it's a brilliant idea," I declared, "Now let's go!"

I charged outside, followed closely by Connie, Soos and Spongebob. Timmy stayed behind for a moment, looking at the tablet.

"Well," he said, "Might as well rate it."

He opened the review panel and unceremoniously tapped three stars.

* * *

AN: I mean, you might as well rob a bank, what with some of these in-app purchase prices!


	15. 15 10 18: Where They Feast

And now, Victorian London.

* * *

 **15/10/18: Where They Feast**

It was another grey and dismal day in London, and I had wished to spend the day bundled up in my home. I had made myself comfortable with the morning's paper, reading of the grim business across the Atlantic - apparently much blood had been spilt at a place called Antietam. Regrettably I found little time to read it before I was called out to a crime scene.

A murder in the dead of night is not an unusual thing in London, or indeed any major city, but the locality of the deed was cause for alarm - the man had been butchered in Knightsbridge, an affluent district if there ever were one. As I arrived, I found a peculiar scene; not only were constables present, but so too were soldiers of the army, their scarlet coats a brilliant contrast against the wet, grey atmosphere.

This murder, it was clear, was important to somebody at Westminster or Horse Guards.

The chief inspector led me to the body. His countenance was deeply haunted; every word was stammered, his bushy red moustache shaking as he spoke. His face was ashen. I soon knew why.

The unfortunate was richly garbed in a fine suit, the collar and white shirt ruined by the ghastly black stain of dried blood. His skin was dry; it hugged his bones. He resembled a husk, a aged, starved man, his eyes milk white and completely featureless, his face contorted into a appalling grimace of pain and fear. Morbid curiosity took me, and I ran a finger over the skin of his hand. It was like sandpaper. I had seen many a dead man, but this was like a nightmarish concoction of Shelley or Poe. As for the stench, it was indescribable.

The method of murder, I could not divine. There was an awful gunshot wound in the shoulder that had torn off the upper left quarter of his back. Below this were three stab wounds - but they were on the wrong side, away from the heart. Finally, there were two tiny pinpricks on the neck, but I couldn't possibly decipher their significance at the time.

I looked up and regarded another civilian assistant to the police, who was inspecting a revolver - the murder weapon? I stepped over to inquire.

"It's a Walker," the man, James Neutron, informed me, "An older American revolver. A six-shooter, I think they call them."

"But only one wound," I mused.

"Yes," replied Neutron, "And far too large for the kind of shot this revolver fires. This was his, not his killer's."

I wandered over to an army captain, who was pacing back and forth with a look of deep frustration on his features. He stopped, removing his shako and staring at his reflection in the brass regimental badge; he was deep in thought.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"Preston Northwest," the captain replied, "He's a Confederate, associated with Lord Palmerston."

"A friend?"

"An ally of convenience," said the captain, "I doubt his lordship will grieve much for him."

"Do we know why he was attacked?" I queried.

The captain shrugged his shoulders, and that was that.

I searched the site once more, and found one more piece of evidence - a Roman denarius in the cobbled street. It looked nearly brand new, and had gone unnoticed by both constables and soldiery. I elected to take it - perhaps it would prove useful.

* * *

The week passed with no sign of a change in weather. Each night a Confederate in London was slain, all in roughly the same fashion as Mr. Northwest. Initially they called me to each one, but by Thursday they had grown weary, numb to the horror, and simply sent men to clean the sites up. All the while, I kept in contact with the police, as their inspectors searched far and wide for their killer.

I noticed a trend. Every victim was a vocal advocate for the South - quiet Southern men went unharmed. They were all connected with somebody at Whitehall or Horse Guards. All of them owned slaves and had vocally advocated for the institution back in America. Furthermore, all of the killings had taken place in a small circle around Knightsbridge and Kensington, and all of them were in some way theatrical - enormous bullet wounds, noses cut off and at least one man had been flogged. At each crime scene, a single denarius was found.

All the while, Confederates began to abdicate London, bound for Paris or the Low Countries. I must admit, I did not particularly miss their presence. They were bores, by and by large, speaking of nothing but that dreadful practice of chattel slavery.

Finally, the killed slipped up. I was called at the crack of dawn - a distraught manservant by the name of Smithers had reported his master dead. He lay in own home, his mouth stuffed with cotton, his face a deep purple. He was C. M. Burns, one of the richest plantation owners in the world, with more than a thousand slaves - he had choked to death on his own product.

But Smithers had arrived in the night to check on him, and he had clearly spooked the assailant. They had fled the room, leaving only the denarius - and a calling card, dropped from a pocket.

 _R, S, and Daughter Antiques_ , with an address and opening hours. We had them.

The plan was simple - just after dusk, a company of light infantry would storm their shop, taking whomever was inside into their custody. Then the inspectors would question them, and search the shop for bloody clothes or weapons. "We," an inspector boldly informed me, "Shall have someone dancing at Newgate by the end of the week."

I thought him a little bit optimistic.

* * *

My curiosity got the better of me. Just after lunch, I ventured down to Kensington to visit this antiques shop. It seemed normal enough - an ordinary shopfront on an ordinary street. I entered and made a show of perusing the shelves, whilst regarding the shopkeeper.

She was tall, with thick black hair, and very clearly dark skinned. If she was targeting Southern slave-owners, it suddenly became brutally clear as to why. She wore dark spectacles over her eyes, which struck me - I wondered how she could see in this dark, gloomy shop. Was she perchance blind?

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to walk to the counter.

"What can I do you for?" she asked.

"I'm curious," I replied, "Are you R, S, or daughter?"

"Daughter," she replied, "By adoption. My name is Garnet."

"Well, tell me Garnet," I said, "Have you read the newspaper this past week?"

She smiled.

"You are not as subtle as you think you are," she said.

I imagine my expression hardened, as she chuckled to herself. I decided to get right to the point.

"Did you," I demanded, "Kill Mr. Northwest? Or Mr. Burns?"

"Burns was my mother," she replied, "But Northwest was me."

I pursed my lips.

"You must understand," Garnet told me, "Both of them, and their families, have killed more of my people than you could ever count. This is simply retribution."

"But how?" I demanded, "How did you..."

Garnet's smiled widened, and I could see sharp fangs. A sudden, chilling wave of fear ran through me. Every rational preconception was shattered and I saw the assailant plain.

"Good lord," I muttered, "A _vampire._ "

Garnet nodded.

"Mr. Northwest was marked, as were the others," she explained, "The stench you smelt on their bodies was their evil, seeping into the atmosphere. In killing them, we are doing the work of justice."

"But vampires are ungodly creatures," I replied.

"How would you know?" asked Garnet, "Before today, you had never met one."

She reached into her coat and pulled out a denarius, flicking it - it landed in her palm, heads facing up.

"Did you know," she said, "That the first vampire worked for Constantine the Great? That vampires were a secret holy order? We aren't any longer, but we have fought for the light since time immemorial. My mothers know - they were there."

I decided not to question her two mothers.

"I imagine the police are coming," she said absently.

"With soldiers," I nodded, "They're already stationed around the block, ready to strike."

"I should like to see them try," said Garnet.

There was a long silence.

"You may leave, if you aren't buying anything," she said at last.

"But I know your secret," I said, rather lamely.

Garnet smiled once more.

"And whoever would believe you?"

She bared her fangs again, and my nerve broke. As I briskly left the building, I heard the sound of laughter - not terrible or ghastly, but merry. It rung in my mind for the rest of the day.

* * *

They never caught Garnet.

When the army charged in, they found nobody inside. The only hint as to their identity was a relief of her and her two mothers, but it was dismissed - after all, it predated the Glorious Revolution. The case remained open, and soldiers patrolled in Knightsbridge for weeks after. They never found anybody, and there were no more murders - life returned to normal in London.

As for me, once the initial shock wore off, I felt entirely at ease wandering the streets at night. An inspector friend questioned me; "Surely, you're mad!" This is what I told him.

If you are of kind heart and good spirit, you may walk at the witching hour without fear and without sword, for you have nothing to fear. But if you have grown fat and rich off the profits of blood, if you believe a man can be made property to be bought and sold, if your house is built upon blood and bone, than you should beware, as the dark spirits watch you.

So beware, and resist the temptation of evil, or it will bloat within your heart and your blood, and that shall become where they feast.

 _\- An excerpt from a letter from an unknown acquaintance to Mr. Bram Stoker._

* * *

AN: Vampire Garnet hunts Confederates. Never thought I'd write that, honestly.


	16. 16 10 18: Before Breakfast

And now, another Ford story!

* * *

 **16/10/18: Before Breakfast**

Slowly, the morning sun began to shine through Ford's bedroom window. He yawned and slowly opened his eyes, stretching as he pushed the blanket off and sat up. The air smelt sweet - it was time for another beautiful day on Planet Earth.

He swung around to plant his feet on the floor and immediately came face-to-face with Dipper.

"Great Uncle Ford!" he exclaimed.

" _Gaaaah!_ "

Ford jumped and scrambled backwards.

"Sorry Great Uncle Ford, but something terrible happened last night!"

"How bad are we talking?" asked Ford, reaching for his glasses.

"I fell asleep reading this spell book last night," replied Dipper, "And I think I accidentally read one in my sleep, because it trapped Mabel in the pages!"

He held up the book, revealing a sleepy-looking Mabel drawn on a blank page.

Ford yawned and gave Dipper a reassuring smile.

"It's okay, Dipper," he replied, "I've been trapped in dozens of books in my time. Just let me get my morning coffee; the caffeine should jog my memory of the counter-spell."

"Oh, thank gosh," sighed Dipper, running a hand through his hair, "I was terrified I'd done something really horrible."

"Nah, happens to the best of us," said Ford, standing up, "Once I spoke an incantation in my sleep and woke up next to Millard Fillmore. It was very awkward for all involved."

He strode over to the door.

"It'll be sorted in ten minutes, provided there are no more distractions."

He opened the door.

" _FORD!_ " Stan thundered.

" _GAAAH!_ "

Ford jumped back as Stan thrust his finger in his twin's face.

"You left your magic adhesive out again," he snapped, "And Soos got into it! Now he's stuck to Waddles!"

"Check it out, dudes!" said Soos, walking up.

He turned around, revealing Waddles stuck to his back.

"Finally, I am a pig-man," he said.

"Ugh," sighed Ford, "Okay, you'll need to come down to my lab," he said, "But you'll have to wait, I need to help Dipper with something. Now where's the coffee-maker..."

The front door burst open.

"Ford!"

" _GGGAAAAAHHHH!_ "

Ford clutched his heart as Wendy burst in.

"You're gonna give me a heart attack!" exclaimed Ford.

"Sorry, man, but we've got a problem!" replied Wendy, "Something really weird's happening to Tambry."

She stepped aside, letting Robbie escort Tambry in. She looked woozy, and her arm was over Robbie's shoulder for support.

"Just looks like a hangover to me," shrugged Stan.

" _Stan!_ " snapped Wendy.

"What? I'm just sayin' what I'm seein'!"

"I don't understand," said Tambry, her voice sounding oddly distorted, "Everything was just fi-fi-fi-fine until a few-a few days ago, and now I'm talking funny, there's weird static in my vision, I've got a craving for motor oil..."

"Yeah, I know what this is," shrugged Ford, "It's probably just a hard drive error. Come down to the lab and I'll run a diagnostic - probably need to defrag."

"Yep, that sounds like normal medical advice," nodded Robbie, "Okay, I'll pick you up when-"

"Wait," said Tambry, eyes widening, " _Hard drive? Diagnostic? Defrag?_ You're talking-talking like I'm a computer or something."

"Yeah, a highly advanced gynoid made from advanced nanofibre to resemble a human," nodded Ford, "Your mother told me at the last Scientist's Meet at McGucket Manor. This is all perfectly normal for someone like..."

He trailed off as he saw Tambry's horrified expression.

"...you didn't know, did you?" he sighed.

"I'm a _robot?!_ " exclaimed Tambry, "But I... I remember... I-I-I-I-I-I-I... Fatal processing error! Fatal processing error! Shutting down!"

Her eyes turned blank and she slumped to the floor. Robbie stared, blinking.

"Uh... I've been dating a Mac?" he said.

"Better than a PC, am I right?" chuckled Soos, raising his hand, "Up top!"

"Great," snapped Ford, "Now I have to run a memory wipe. Why didn't you tell me she didn't know?"

" _I didn't know!_ " exclaimed Wendy, "I-I've known her since we were kids!"

"I know, she's a remarkable scientific achievement," shrugged Ford, "But I thought it was obvious! I mean, the obsession with her technology, that strange 'cell-phone' she had..."

"Most teenagers are like that, Ford!"

"Wow, I didn't know robotics had progressed that far."

Ford shook his head.

"Look, I can handle this," he said, "I just need to get my coffee and maybe some toast and then..."

Ford winced as a flash of light filled the room. When it cleared, two short humanoids, one purple and large, one green and thin, appeared in front of him.

"Yo, Ford, we got a problem," said Amethyst, "We accidentally turned Greg into a car."

"And I can't find the setting to turn him back," added Peridot, holding up the Fiddley Thing, "And today's supposed to be perfect, so you need to fix it right now."

" _Why?!_ " thundered Ford, "Why does it have to be _right now?!_ "

Peridot blinked, her eyes watering.

"It's our anniversary," she replied, her voice cracking.

Amethyst pulled her into a hug, glaring at Ford. Wendy stepped forward and hugged them both, joining the purple gem in her glare.

"What?" exclaimed Ford, "I... I didn't know."

"Not cool, Ford," said Soos, shaking his head, "Not cool."

"I... I'm sorry," sighed Ford, "I just... I've had a lot thrown at me, and I need my coffee. Just... give me a minute."

He walked into the kitchen, followed by the small crowd that had formed behind him. He reached under the counter for a mug.

" _STANFORD FILBRICK PINES._ "

Ford jumped, throwing the mug into the air. It shattered against the roof.

He looked outside. A small team of soldiers in old Vietnam-era uniforms were gathered outside the window, their guns pointed at him. Their leader, dressed in a sleeveless vest and red bandana, was shouting at him.

"We're from the Fortunate Son Dimension," he declared.

"Oh come on!" bellowed Ford, "I stole _one_ helicopter!"

"You stole the Sacred Huey!" bellowed the soldier, "And as a result, you will be taken to a tiger cage and forced to listen to The Doors on repeat until you starve to death!"

"But I like The Doors," said Ford.

"Not after two hundred straight hours you won't."

"Look, can I get a raincheck on this fight?" asked Ford, "I just need..."

There was another flash. A woman with an orange visor appeared, jumping out of the sky and firing twin white pistols at the Vietnam soldiers, scattering them. She turned to Ford.

"You don't have any..." she began.

"Tracer, I'm _busy_ ," replied Ford, "I..."

He was cut off as a giant spider robot burst from the trees, Gideon Gleeful in the cockpit.

"Ford, I need weapons for this here death robot!" he exclaimed, "For entirely peaceful purposes, I assure you..."

"He's lying!" exclaimed Pacifica, who was being held by one of the spider arms, "He's trying to steal the Shack and Mabel! _I'm the hypotenuse!_ "

Before Ford could say anything, a green portal opened in the kitchen.

" _Urrp!_ Hey, Ford, need to borrow something from you real quick," said Rick, stepping out and dragging a squirming Morty behind him, "Morty, he's-he's got a real bad case of space crabs. R- _uurp!-_ eal bad case. I-I-It ain't pretty."

"I need _creams!_ " exclaimed Morty.

All around Ford, more portals opened and more people arrived. He clutched his head as a cacophony of voices filled his ears.

"Ford, I need to borrow some of your space travel notes," said Princess Bubblegum, "I'm taking Marcy to Uranus for our anniversary." (Next to her, Marceline snorted.)

"Aha! My tracker is led me here!" exclaimed Crocker, "Surely, I will now found myself some _FAIRY GOD-PARENTS!_ "

"Dr Pines! I finally found you!" shouted Jack Fenton, "You're one of my heroes! Come see my portal! It's really cool!"

"Dr. Pines, I need you check my..."

"...my village has been taken over by..."

"...we need a bad enough dude to rescue the president..."

" _BRING ME SOME JAM._ "

"Ford, I need..."

"...Dr. Pines, Dr. Pines..."

"...it was his hat, Ford! _He was number one!_ "

"Ford, I need..."

"Saxton Haaaaaale!"

"Hey, it's me, the Grandmaster. I, uh, I was wondering if you could find me some, uh, fighters for my arena..."

"Please tell me you have a story idea, I'm running on fumes-"

" ** _ENOOOOOOOUGH!_** "

Ford's scream echoed throughout the Shack, and everyone froze.

"I can sort out your problems," snarled Ford, "Just give me _ten minutes_ to have my breakfast. Just! Ten! Minutes!"

There was a long silence.

"...but..."

" ** _OUTSIDE!_** " thundered Ford.

The kitchen very quickly cleared, leaving Ford and Dipper alone.

"I, uh, do you want me to leave, Great Uncle..."

"No," sighed Ford, "Come sit with me, Mason. You've done nothing wrong."

Ford made his coffee and toast and they sat down.

"Mason," said Ford wearily, "If you ever become a paranormal researcher like me, don't advertise yourself as much as I did. Nothing good comes of it."

"I hear you," nodded Dipper, "That's why I'm gonna move to a desert island when I retire."

"Good plan," said Ford, "Good plan."

He closed his eyes and took a long, grateful sip of his coffee.

* * *

AN: Guess fame ain't all it's cracked up to be.


	17. 17 10 18: The Silver Man

More history is always fun.

* * *

 **17/10/18: The Silver Man and the Burning Flame**

 _May 1945. Czechoslovakia._

Major Mstislav Isaak Petrov of the NKVD was not in a good mood.

He had been woken up at two in the morning and ordered to leave his comfortable lodgings in Poland to drive at all speed to western Czechoslovakia. Apparently the frontoviks had found something while seizing an SS bunker, and it needed to be examined and moved as soon as possible - as it was, it was sat right in the line of that cowboy Patton's advance, and Soviet command was slightly nervous that the bullish American general might simply attack them to gain their prize.

Now, if the prize had been related to rocketry or chemical warfare or jet propulsion, they'd have called someone else. If they were calling Petrov, it meant they'd found something _strange._

"We're here, comrade Major."

The driver had pulled up next to the entrance to a concrete bunker on the side of a hill. Outside, Soviet troops had rounded up SS troopers and were gathering them in small groups, presumably for further transport. Petrov snorted - they'd be lucky if they made it to a POW camp. SS men were _detested_ in the Red Army - after all, their hands were caked in Russian blood.

Petrov climbed out of the staff car, beelining towards a dishevelled major who seemed to be in charge. The officer was interviewing a soldier - behind them was a tall, tube-like contraption covered by a canvas.

"Are you in charge?" he asked curtly.

"Yes, comrade Major!" the major cried, snapping to attention, "Major Gleb Konstantinov! I commanded the assault that captured the Serebryanyy Chelovek!"

The Silver Man - that's what they were calling it. Red Army staff officers weren't an imaginative bunch.

"Is the private here the man who found him?" asked Petrov.

"Uh… Krupin found him, yes, but it was under my command, and…"

"Very good, dismissed," grunted Petrov, "Private Krupin, can you describe what you saw when you first found the Silver Man? How were the fascists holding… _him?_ "

"He was being kept in this tube," replied Krupin, pointing to the covered object, "Submerged in some kind of water. It's the colour of… is it okay if…"

"I need an honest report, Private, describe it as best you can," replied Petrov.

"...well, it was the colour of… _urine_ , Comrade Major," said Krupin sheepishly, "A little on the green side, though. Major Konstantinov ordered us to open it, but nothing broke the glass - not gunfire, not explosives, nothing."

He scratched the back of his head.

"I'm sorry, Comrade Major, I don't know anything else about it… wait, there's a number on the back of the tube…"

"And what number would that be, Private Krupin?"

" _Seventeen._ "

* * *

 _June 1950. Washington DC._

"A silver man?"

The diplomat adjusted his collar - it was another warm day in Washington, and beads of sweat were running down his neck. The young Mi6 attaché in front of him - some upstart transferred from the Navy called Bowen or Botts or something like that - had just handed him a handwritten note, which he claimed he had stolen from a Russian diplomat while playing poker.

The diplomat frowned as he read the note again - the codes were Soviet, it seemed entirely official, and to allow it to be captured - the agent in question was _clearly_ a rank amateur. It almost made the Englishman cringe.

"Yes," replied… was it Boyd? - "He was captured from the Nazis in '45. He's being held in Kazakhstan - I believe I know where. With your permission, I…"

"I'll have to report this to a higher authority, Commander…" He coughed, hoping not to let Bone (Bader? No, he was a pilot…) realise that he'd forgotten his name. "I'll let you know when I have something. Come back round tomorrow, same time. Dismissed."

The young agent walked - or perhaps _swaggered_ \- out of the room, leaving the diplomat alone. He bit his lip and opened his desk drawer, revealing a black telephone. He dialled a number and picked it up, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"The West know about the Silver Man," said Kim Philby.

* * *

 _March 1953. Somewhere in Siberia._

"Stalin is dead."

The three simple words tore through the atmosphere of the bunker like a warm butter knife. Colonel Petrov couldn't help but swallow; this was bad news. Under Stalin, he could reasonably predict what his future held. Who was in charge now? Beria? Malenkov? Molotov? Could they be expected to continue funding his project? Or would they simply shut them down - and, more likely than not, shoot him?

"So what now?" he asked the pencil-necked chekist who had brought the news.

"There is a collective leadership," replied the chekist, "Comrade Malenkov is chairman of a council of ministers. They have yet to consider... _him_."

He glanced disdainfully at the silver man in the tube, guarded by a pair of apprehensive riflemen.

"I will be back as soon as we know what happens next," he continued, "Likely you will be folded under Leviathan. Or rather, _your_ _men_ will be."

He sneered.

"Have a good afternoon, Comrade Colonel," he said, walking out the door.

Petrov pursed his lips. Clearly, he decided, he'd need some form of insurance.

* * *

 _June 1961. The Cuban Coast, near Havana._

The small team of marines trudged ashore, weapons drawn. The night was dark, and they made as little sound as possible. Each of them felt the phantom gaze of one of Castro's men in the treeline - they hoped to heaven it was just their imagination.

The leading man was quite different to his marine entourage; he didn't wear the olive fatigues and helmets, and he carried no gun. Yet he carried himself with the utmost calm, sure beyond all possible doubt that they were alone.

Well, _mostly_ alone.

Another man, dishevelled and downtrodden, stepped out of the darkness, immediately met by the barrels of the marines' guns. The calm man raised an arm, signalling them to lower them.

"My name is Mstislav Isaak Petrov," said the dishevelled man, "And I want to defect."

The calm man nodded and smiled.

"Welcome to the United States, Mr. Petrov," nodded the calm man, "I'm Howard Stark."

* * *

 _August 1967. Camp David._

"So you mean to tell me this baby is... what, a goddess?"

Lyndon Baines Johnson narrowed his eyes as he sceptically read the report.

"Da, Mr. President," said Mr. Petrov, "If Professor Xavier is correct, and I do believe he is, this... _Grey_ child could, if her full potential is realised..."

He trailed off, his face ashen.

"We must prevent this," he continued, "I... I _will_ prevent this. I need only your word, and..."

Johnson stood up, walking deliberately around his desk and stopping in front of Petrov. He leaned forward, his hands in his pockets as he towered over his guest. Petrov swallowed, forced to lean back.

"You're scared of this kid," he said.

"Yes."

"Well," said Johnson, "Why haven't you dealt with her?"

"She could be a countermeasure," replied Petrov, "To the Silver Man. And in any case, it's... it's unconscionable to consider..."

"You wanna raise her to control her powers," nodded Johnson, "Fine, I approve. But if this fails; if this kid grows up and becomes this death goddess on your watch, and I'm still alive to see it, then I'll rain goddamn hellfire on you. You're free because I want you to be, because I think you're useful, so you'd better be damn sure you know what you're doing."

He leaned down, and Petrov shrank back again.

"'Cause if you p**s on me, Petrov, I'll drown you in a world of sh..."

"Yes, yes, I-I-I understand, Mr. President," Petrov stammered, "Thirteen men, give me thirteen men and we'll make sure..."

Johnson nodded.

"Approved," he said, "Just remember what I said."

He stepped back, heading to the door.

"Now, back to the important things," he grunted, "If that pr**k Bobby thinks he's gonna ride his brother's corpse to the White House he's got another thing coming..."

* * *

 _October 1980. Moscow._

"...our experimentation in creating our own Silver Man still has borne no fruit," the man was saying, "As you know, we suffered an enormous setback when Khrushchev chased Petrov to America..."

Leonid Brezhnev was barely listening to the scientist. He was half-dozing at his desk, thinking of happier times. He caught only brief segments of the report.

"...Winter Soldier program probably pays further dividends... have considered using him in Afghanistan... rejected the possibility of moving Vanko to the Silver Man..."

Brezhnev yawned and nodded. He could feel the sunset coming; it seemed so pointless to pay much attention to these grand scientific aims so late in his life. He yearned for simpler days that had perhaps never existed.

"...want to know if you intend to shut down the Silver Man research division?"

"Da, da," Brezhnev replied dozily. Anything for a quiet life.

The man nodded curtly and left his office, leaving Brezhnev to drift off to sleep.

* * *

 _April 1984. Somewhere in Massachusetts._

"Knock her out! For god's sake, knock her out!"

"It's not working! It's _not working!_ Damn it, Petrov, you promised this would work, you promised!"

"I... I... this was all Johnson's idea! It's his fault, and Nixon and Ford and Carter and Reagan and... and all of the pigs! It wasn't me, I just wanted my freedom! _It wasn't me! IT WASN'T ME!_ "

* * *

Mstislav Isaak Petrov lay dead in the ashes of the military hospital, his skin charred beyond all recognition. He was surrounded by his staff, each of their bodies contorted and warped by the intense heat that had destroyed their building. Their deaths, it was clear, had not been quick.

A girl - not even out of her teens - was slumped on her knees in the middle of the wreckage, rain pouring down on her. A shock of red hair contrasted the greys and browns of the destroyed landscape.

Slowly and deliberately, a bald man in a wheelchair trundled towards her - next to him was a tall, beastly blue man in a suit. They stopped in front of her - she looked up, trembling.

"Hello, Jean," said Professor Xavier, "I'm here to help you."

* * *

 _October 2018. Somewhere in Siberia._

The smoke slowly cleared.

The bunker was empty as the long-haired man walked into the room, his silver arm shimmering under the sterile electric lights. Behind him lay a squad of Russian soldiers, their defence of their charge having proved fruitless.

Bucky threw away the Russian rifle he'd grabbed on the way in - not bad, but not his style - and regarded the figure in the tube.

"You too, huh?" he muttered to himself, "Well, let's get you out..."

* * *

 _October 2018. Fort Leavenworth._

The PURITY trooper coughed as he breathed in the smoke and ash. Slowly he climbed to his feet - looking around, he wondered if he was in hell.

The fort - one of PURITY's primary concentrations within the US Army - had been annihilated, the ground warped and twisted as fire licked the remains. Out of the smog, he could see figures approaching him.

The old man he recognised; the trooper had been with Rausseman at FutureCorp, he'd seem the General kill him - but he was alive and upright, and his eyes were glowing bright red. So too were the eyes of the boy next to him, and the blue figure floating above them. In the middle was a woman, her hair a brilliant red, her limbs bathed in dancing flame.

"What are you?" the trooper whispered.

"I am the Phoenix," the woman replied.

Shaking, the trooper raised his gun, finger on the trigger.

"H-h... _HAIL PURITY!_ " he bellowed, " _HEIL HI-_ "

Flames danced over him, and he knew no more.

* * *

AN: The fun thing about this is that even my extremely sanitised version of Johnson is one of the most vulgar characters I've ever written for HU.


	18. 18 10 18: Choose Your Own Ending III

Been a while since I've done one of these.

* * *

 **18/10/18: Choose Your Own Ending III: Man, This Series Was Weird**

 _Because context is for squares!_

* * *

 **101**

Timmy, Cosmo and Wanda burst into the control room, the former shooting his star-flinger at the marine guard and knocking him out the window. He'll probably be fine. Probably.

"Alright!" says Timmy, "We have to find the button that'll free our friends from their cells!"

"Maybe it's this one!" says Cosmo, slamming his finger on a big red button.

With a low rumble, a nuclear missile bursts from its silo, bound for Moscow.

"Nope," said Wanda, "Not that one."

Timmy shakes his head. Thanks to Cosmo, it looks like this is

 **The End.**

* * *

 **28**

The spaceship soars through space at eighty times the speed of light. In the cockpit, Dipper ages rapidly, growing into an adult, than to middle-age and then finally a decrepit old man.

"I don't think this is how time dilation works!" he rasps, "Oh well, guess I'll die!"

As he ages into the dust, the author throws up their hands and shrugs. They're only getting five dollars for this book, how can they expected to know advanced mathematics?

 **The End.**

* * *

 **88**

Danny stops wandering the corridors of the UFO and sits down, pouting.

"What's up?" asks Sam, as she and Tucker stop for him.

"I just realised which book we're in," replied Danny, "We're in the one where you can't get the good ending unless you cheat."

"Oh, yeah, that one," nodded Tucker, "I think that's more of a commentary on how utopia is unobtainable."

"You don't pick up a Choose Your Own Adventure book for deep philosophy, Tucker."

"Yeah, good point."

 **The End.**

* * *

 **37**

Bees.

In your kidneys.

What an unexpected yet unpleasant way to go, eh?

 **The End.**

* * *

 **56**

As Ford drives the jeep into the advancing Old Guard, the Duke of Wellington standing in the back and hip-firing a minigun, a heavy metal cover of _The British Grenadiers_ blaring from giant speakers, he wonders if he should be worried about the historical ramifications of what he's doing.

He muses on how the space-time continuum will handle Wendy, wielding Excalibur and riding a unicorn as she leads the British Foot Guards forward. How about Soos' tank, giving green-jacketed riflemen a lift towards Napoleon's artillery? Or Dipper, Mabel and Pacifica riding a giant Chinese dragon over the field? Or Stan giving Marshal Ney a noogie while Blucher and the Prince of Orange cheer him on? This is very much not how the Battle of Waterloo is supposed to go.

Ah well, he thinks; if he's going to ruin the timeline, he might as well look cool whilst doing it.

 **The End.**

* * *

 **84**

"Yay, we somehow defeated Thanos!" exclaims Spongebob, "And all it took was the power of friendship!"

" _And_ bureaucracy," adds Patrick.

"Okay, Squidward," said Sandy, "Y'all can put down the Infinity Gauntlet now!"

Squidward didn't reply.

"...uh... _Squidward?_ "

Squidward grinned madly and lifted the Gauntlet.

"Arr, this ain't gonna end well," sighed Mr. Krabs.

 _Snap._

 **The End?**

* * *

 **29**

They make you read the Goosebumps book _Chicken Chicken_.

Honestly, this is probably the worst ending of all.

 **The End.**

* * *

 **33**

Amethyst and Peridot sit in the constantly expanding pod as it floats through space.

"You know, this plan doesn't really work," says Peridot, "If the pod's constantly growing, wouldn't we eventually just get so large that we destroy the Earth anyway? Honestly we're just prolonging the inevitable..."

"Just try not to think about it," shrugs Amethyst.

There's a long silence.

"This is based on a real Choose Your Own Adventure ending, you know that?" asked Amethyst, "Them books were _weird._ "

 **The End.**

* * *

 **58**

Stevonnie is trapped in a world in constant slow motion. They sit on the couch, sighing as the world crawls - and they do mean _crawls_ \- by.

" _Wwwwweeeee'lllllllllll beeeeegggggiiiiinnnnn ttttrrrrraaaaaaaiiiiiinnnnniiiiiiinnnnnngggggg iiiiiiiiiiinnnnnn oooooooonnnnnnneeeee hhhhhhhoooooouuuuuurrrrrr_ ," says Pearl, " _Lllllooooooovvvvvveeeeee yyyyyyyyyoooooooouuuuuuu!_ "

"Yep, love you too, Pearl," nods Stevonnie, "So I guess for me that means we start in... a day, I guess?"

They sigh and sit back.

"Tell you what, if I thought hiatuses were bad _before_..."

 **The End.**

* * *

 **79**

Sadie steps into the dimly lit room full of wooden marionettes whose eyes all follow her as she moves.

"Uh... _no,_ " she says bluntly.

She walks out again and runs very, very far away.

 **The End.**

* * *

 **42**

The answer was, as you'd always suspected, a labrador.

 **The End.**

* * *

 **107**

The skeleton gathers dust in front of the old laptop. Carefully, Wirt lifts his hand to see the little post-it note underneath.

"Day Seventy," he reads, "I will not leave this computer until _Ruby Stars_ updates."

He blinks.

"Okay, guess he starved," he shrugged, "Mystery solved?"

 **The End.**

* * *

 **19**

You want to know what love is, and want someone to show you. Unfortunately, Yahoo Answers is down.

 **The End.**

* * *

 **55**

E350 dusts off his hands as he saves the document. It's hard coming up with full stories - much easier just to provide endings without context.

He wonders if this is a mite cheap, but life is short and he wants to play video games.

 **The End.**

* * *

AN: It's amazing how many CYOA books thought they were Kubrick films.


	19. 19 10 18: Iron Horses

This is for Zim'sMostLoyalServant. Except I forgot the second half of the prompt so there's no hunting angle. Please accept my humble apologies.

* * *

 **19/10/18: I** **ron Horses**

She's a fine old piece of machinery, ain't she?

Yep, _she_. All locomotives are she, y'see. They're living things - they got minds and souls and temperaments just like the rest of us. You see one of these at full pelt and tell me it ain't a living, breathing creature.

But yeah, this ol' girl. She's a 4-4-0 - means four leading wheels in the front bogie, four driving wheels, no trailing bogie. She burned wood for much of her life, though they converted her to coal in '02. Big ol' spark arrested like what they had on the ol' Jupiter at Promontory Point. Real looker, and it'll be a shame to see her go.

There's a mighty interesting history behind the name, too, if you've time to hear.

It was round about the mid-1870s. The North Pacific was expanding into what's now North Dakota, into the old lands of the Lakota - right over their old buffalo hunting grounds. Now they didn't much like that, and the government were mighty spooked that they might try to stop it, so they put up a fort to protect the builders, and they put George Armstrong Custer in command.

Now, the rail baron in charge o' the project had a daughter named Gazlene, and you'd never see a more intemperate sort. She got involved with the workers and rode them hard, and one word out of line and you'd be out a job. She had a mean streak wider than the Mississippi; furthermore she was vain and thought she were owed the world. And that's how this all begins.

There was a hill not far from the railroad where there was a little village, but to Gazlene it was prime real estate - a perfect plot to build a mansion. 'Course, the Lakota weren't inclined to move, so she ran to Custer and ask him to fix it for her. Old Custer, well, he'd never miss a chance to push around some Indians, and the local Indian Agent, a feller named Flanders, thought he could lump all the Lakota into one place so he could more easily Christianise them. So they gathered a bunch of cavalry and they rode up the hill.

Now, these were mostly women, children and old folk, so they couldn't do much against the cavalry. Custer's men looted the place, forced out the villagers, shot anyone who wouldn't go - it was harsh and cruel, but nothing about it was unusual on the Plains. But before they left, an ol' feller turned to them and told the three of 'em they'd be punished for what they did. That they'd better change soon, or they'd lose everything they'd gained.

Now Custer, he saw this as a threat and shot the feller, and Gazlene forgot him as quickly as she saw him. But Flanders, he was pretty disturbed - wrote in his diary that he felt a deep, haunted feeling as they watched the Lakota go.

Time passed. Custer marched off the fight in the Great Sioux War - a road that took him all the way to Little Bighorn. I don't need to remind you how that tale ends.

But Gazlene, she was living pretty in her new mansion, big and grand and painted in garish black. From there she rode to the workers on the railroad, and brutalised them just as she always had. And one fine day, she fired a bunch of track-layers for stopping to drink water under the hot sun. When one of them complained, he was run down by her horse. The only doctor lived in a company town, and the fired workers were barred from entering, and so he soon died.

Now, this was the last straw for these fellers. They met in the night and decided to fight back.

"I helped build her mansion," said their leader, a man named Fenton, "And I know she has a cellar full of wine underneath. We take 'em, we head south and we sell 'em, and we can start a new life of our own."

"If it gets us out from under her," admitted another, feller named Mason Pines, "I'll do anything."

So they gathered their picks, and a couple of guns, and they set off for the mansion. Now, Custer's cavalry was long gone, and the only watchman had been at his own moonshine, so they had no trouble getting in.

Now, you gotta understand, they had no intention of hurting her. But in the dark under the mansion, Mason was startled by the watchman, stumbling drunkenly into the cellar. He jumped outta his skin and fired his pistol - missed the poor fool, praise the Lord, but made him drop his torch. The wooden floor was set ablaze, and before long, all were fleeing.

But what of Gazlene? She was sleeping soundly and deeply, undisturbed by any sense of conscience - or commotion. And as she slept, the flames spread. I don't know what they made that black paint from, but it burnt readily. By the time she woke up, the whole front of the building was a wall of fire.

They say she could be seen pounding at her bedroom window - oh, but that was the best glass money could buy, and it weren't gonna break. They heard her yelling all the curses you could imagine, and then that yelling turned to screaming, and they could see her burning like a candle, flesh melting away like wax. When the fire burnt out, and they could go into the ruins, they found deep scratches on the window, a hand on the windowsill - and not more but ash.

Now that was enough for Flanders; he was on the next train back to Chicago. He spent the rest of his days deeply afraid of attracting divine retribution. I hear he died in an asylum.

Gazlene's pa, well, he was distraught, and declared that the next engine he bought would be her memorial, and would be named such. Hence, _Gazlene._

But there's a twist of course - there always is. Y'see, the engineers and the maintenance fellers hated - _hated_ this engine. She was a rough rider and deeply temperamental, always breaking something. Brakes hard on, axle boxes running hot, steam leaking, every problem you can imagine. And a young man was heard to say, "She's as difficult as the real thing!"

An old man responded, "Boy, I believe she _is_ the real thing."

As time went by, the problems gradually faded. Since they sold her down here, she's been a reasonably fine runner, if unforgiving. But you gotta remember, all engines have a soul, and this one's a vain and temperamental sort. And I wonder about what that old feller said - is it all coincidence? Or was Gazlene's soul, rejected by Heaven and Hell and cursed for her deeds, consigned to this new, metal form.

True or not, it makes for a nice story, don't it?

I'll let you get to work.

* * *

Tucker watched the old man stroll away before looking back at the engine. It didn't look unusual - it's faded purple paint and golden nameplate were striking, but not at all in a supernatural way. It just looked like a normal, if elderly, steam locomotive.

Yet now he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched - and was that sound on the wind a quiet sobbing, or just the wind?

 _Oh well_ , he thought, _I'd better get to work._

He flipped down the protective visor and activated the blowtorch.

* * *

AN: _It's the ciiiiiicle of Karma!  
And it screws us all!_

Well, mostly Gaz.


	20. 20 10 18: E350 Presents: Billy Goats

Eh, these are really fun to write, so why not?

* * *

 **20/10/18: E350 Presents: The Three Billy Goats Gruff**

You ever wonder why they're called 'billy goats?'

I mean, they could just be called 'male goats', you know? Because that's what they are, they're male goats. Did somebody just wander down some farm track one day, point at a goat and say ' _HEY BILLY, THERE'S YER GOAT!_ ' And did it just sort of catch on from there? It's a legitimate question.

But I digress.

Wait, hang on, we've already done that joke. In any case, it's immaterial - I'm just using the basic plot. They're... they're not actually goats. I mean, you're free to _imagine_ them as goats but I'd rather you didn't.

Once upon a time, late November specifically, a small family of three found themselves bereft of food, as can happen sometimes. Now, this wasn't too big a disaster as there was a market at ways down the road where they could buy all manner of produce. There was just one problem - they had to cross a bridge.

Under this bridge, there lived a troll. Most of the time, the troll wallowed in his own filth under the bridge arch, posting YouTube comments and watching Jordan Peterson, but whenever a traveller past, he burst out and ate anyone who passed - unless they subscribed to the same podcasts as him, and weren't women.

Now, the group were travelling one by one, because they'd told the census people that only one person lived in their house, and if they found out the truth they'd have to pay more taxes. So, early in the morning, little Peridot wandered towards the bridge, on the way to the market. Just as she arrived, the troll burst out.

"RAAAAAGH!" he screamed, "I am a troll, and I'm gonna eat your face!"

"No, don't eat my face!" exclaimed Peridot, "It's stringy and composed entirely of light! I'm not even slightly nourishing!"

"I'm not some picky SJW!" the troll exclaimed, "Now prepare to die!"

"Wait!" said Peridot, "Uh, I, uh, my adoptive parental unit Pearl is behind me, and she's much more nourishing for you ravenous appetite!"

"...yeah, okay, whatever," shrugged the troll, "I'll eat you on the way back, when I've digested. Now _go!_ "

Peridot hurried on, and the troll slunk back under the bridge to watch the results of the Wentworth by-election. Okay, I know nobody who isn't Australian's gonna get this, but the Liberal Party lost the seat of Wentworth in parliament! They've had it for fifty years straight, that's very interesting and...

...um...

...I'll carry on.

Soon enough, Pearl strolled onto the bridge, and out burst the troll, baring his fangs and waving his MAGA hat.

"Prepare to be eaten, you cuck!" he screeched.

"I don't think you know what that word means," said Pearl flatly.

"Of course I do!" snapped the troll, "I have an unusually high IQ. That's how I can understand _Rick and Morty_."

Rick's head emerged from behind a tree.

"Wow, that's a _real_ 2017 joke right there," he said, "You've - _*burp*_ \- you've really got your finger on the pulse of comedy there."

Oh, _shut up._

Pearl crossed her arms.

"Oh, a _smart_ troll like you doesn't want to eat _me_ ," she said, "You want to wait for my wife, Bismuth. If you feed on her, you'll have enough food to last the winter."

"That's a good point," said the troll, not seeing Pearl's sly smirk, "Plus you're probably to bony and your nose looks tough. Very well, _be gone thot!_ "

"Ooh, five month old memes," said Rick, "You're a... you're a real genius. Next John Mulaney right here..."

 _Shut up._

Anyway, Pearl carried on, but instead of heading to the market, she hid behind a bush to watch the coming fun.

For five minutes, the troll went back to his hole to spam the twitter feeds of public figures with death threats, but before too long he heard Bismuth approaching. He smirked. This would be fun.

He burst out.

" _I AM THE TROLL! I'M GONNA EAT_ _ **AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!**_ "

With great force, Bismuth punched him across the face. He flew over the side of the bridge and into the river, where he was instantly carried off downstream, never to be seen again. His final, mournful cry could be heard on the wind.

" _I blame Obamaaaaaaaaaa..._ "

Bismuth watched as he was washed away.

"Well," she shrugged, "I don't know how that was, but they shouldn't have threatened to eat me."

"Bismuth!" Pearl ran back onto the bridge, "That was _amazing!_ "

And then they made out for twenty minutes.

So Bismuth and Pearl carried on to the market, where they found Peridot who insisted that everything had happened exactly as she'd planned it. The troll never came back, allowing all who chose to do so to cross the bridge at any time - until they put a toll booth there, but, you know, better than a troll. And everyone lived happily ever after.

But wait! What happened to the troll?

Well, he washed up fifty miles downstream, where he was found by an old inventor and two children.

"Hey, d'you reckon it counts as cannibalism if it's not human?" asked McGucket.

"According to the Oxford Dictionary," replied Candy, "It's 'the practice of eating the flesh of one's own species.'"

"So yeah, it's probably fine," shrugged Grenda.

"Hot dog!" exclaimed McGucket, "We're eatin' troll tonight!"

And the troll very much _didn't_ live happily ever after.

 **The-**

"Oh yeah, cannibalism. You-you're ending with a cannibalism joke. Real class..."

 _LET'S SEE YOU DO BETTER, SANCHEZ!_

 **The End.**

* * *

AN: Yeah, this got a little political, but so's the main arc, so what can you do?


	21. 21 10 18: The Beast In Me

I took me a while to think of a title that didn't just straight-up reveal the ending.

* * *

 **21/10/18: The Beast In Me**

It's raining, which rather fits Pearl's mood.

She walks down a back alley in Brooklyn, not entirely sure what to do with herself. She can't exactly go home, not with her... _affliction_. It'd be too dangerous to expose Steven to that. Yet she can't exactly wander around aimlessly either. She ponders where she can possibly go.

"Hey, lady, why don't you stop right there for a moment?"

A young man steps out from behind a dumpster, pistol in his hand. He smiles like a shark, and Pearl assumes he's trying to look suave. He steps forward, stretching himself out just widely enough to give the impression that he's impassable.

"I wouldn't do this if I were you," says Pearl, "Even _normally_ , you wouldn't stand a chance."

"What're you sayin'?" sneers the man, "You think you can beat me up?"

"Yes," says Pearl flatly.

"Whoa!" exclaims the man, "Tough talker here! You got mace or somethin'? Well..."

He lifts the gun.

"...see if you can draw first."

A voice rings in Pearl's head.

 ** _Strike him. He's weak. He hasn't even taken the safety off._**

"I don't need you," hisses Pearl.

 ** _We are stronger together._**

"No, I'll handle this alone."

"Lady, who the hell are you..."

He doesn't get a chance to finish. Pearl's spear is drawn and on him in a flash. A single swing, not even that strong, sends him flying into the wall. The pistol drops - the magazine falls out, revealing that it was empty.

"Hmm," grunts Pearl, "Warrior, you are not."

She walks on, leaving the mugger unconscious in the gutter. She has much more important things on her mind.

 _Much_ more important things.

* * *

Somehow, she's ended up in the Pine Barrens. It's been weeks since she's left the city, and she's spent most of it thinking.

This... _affliction_ (she refuses to consider it a being) will not go away. As long as it stays, she can't go home. She can't even call home, because then they'd come looking for her. Steven's like that. Garnet's like that. None of them would understand. Nobody would.

 ** _I do._**

"Oh, _shut up._ "

Pearl sits on a log, examining her sword in her hand. It's been years since she's seriously fought with it. It's felt... _wrong_ to do so; too connected with lies and betrayal, and anyway, it was a Rose-and-Pearl thing. Better to use the spear, and to pass on the sword-fighting to Connie.

 ** _Why? Why must it be a Rose thing?_** The voice sounds genuinely curious.

"I did it for her," replies Pearl, "I guess... I always felt like I was just borrowing her fighting technique for my own. I... I'm talking to a voice in my head."

 ** _But it can be_** **yours** ** _. There is nothing stopping you._**

"I did it for _her_ ," repeats Pearl.

 ** _She is gone. So do it for_** **you.** ** _Embrace your ability._**

"I... but I just _can't_ ," says Pearl, "I just..."

She takes a deep breath and stands up.

"This is just practice," she declares, "Nothing else. Now shut up and let me do this."

She draws her sword and makes her stance.

* * *

It's been a good hiding place for Pearl, but now it's time to leave. The Army, under the command of General Ross, have arrived, looking for her... _acquaintance._ They want it for their own ends. Pearl doesn't like the sound of that at all.

" _Fox-3, do you have visual?_ "

"Negative, Fox-Actual, but we've got a positive ID on the tracker, stand by."

Three soldiers block the path ahead. She can't go around them without making too much noise - she's limber, but nobody's that limber. She'll have to go through them.

 ** _The sword._**

Pearl swallows and nods, taking the sword from her gem. Time to go.

"Fox-Actual, we think they're... uh, ma'am, this area's restricted and - wait, _positive contact! Positive contact!_ "

They drew their rifles and fire, but Pearl's too quick for them. She easily dodges past their quick, excited bursts and swings the flat of her sword against the lead soldier. It hits his head hard, sending the helmet flying off and him sprawling to the ground.

The others turn quickly, their training taking over. She can't rely on frantic adrenaline to make them miss now.

One fires, but suddenly a enormous blob of black bursts from her midsection, forming first into to a shield to block the bullets, then into a giant fist. It thrusts out, sending the unfortunate soldier flying into a tree.

"Wait, no, don't!" Pearl cries.

It is too late. The appendage morphs into a long spike and shoots towards the third soldier. He doesn't even have time to react before it pierces through his chest, lifting him up.

Pearl looked up at the dying man's face, shaking in horror at what has happened.

"No... no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she stammers.

Weakly, the soldier reaches for his radio.

"...a-requesting airstrike... on my position..."

His head then slumps. He is gone. The black appendage withdraws from his body, dropping him like a ragdoll to the muddy ground.

"You... you _monster_ ," exclaims Pearl.

 ** _I acted on_** **your** ** _inhibitions, Pearl. You shattered enemy gems in the war, and he was an enemy soldier. If_** **I** ** _am a monster..._**

"Don't say it, don't say it!"

 ** _...then so are_** **you.**

"No!" Pearl falls to her knees, clutching her head, "Get out, _get out, GET OUT!_ "

She doesn't get to say much more. A roaring sound fills the air, and the whole world turns into a cacophony of fire.

* * *

She wakes - _wakes_ , not reforms - in a sterile-looking lab, and for a moment she fears the military have gotten her. But the man who looks over her doesn't look like a soldier - his expression is soft and kind.

"Who... where am I?" demands Pearl.

"Bruce Banner," replies the man, "You're in my lab."

He scratches the back of his neck.

"Well, not _my_ lab, my friend's lab, I, uh, I'm just borrowing it."

Slowly he pushes a small box marked 'Property of Tony Stark' out of the way.

"Why did you bring me here?" asks Pearl.

"I didn't want Ross to get his hands on the symbiote," shrugs Bruce, "That... that was a big motivator. And, uh, I guess I want to help you... 'cause I know what it's like."

"How can _you_ know what it's like?" asks Pearl.

"You ever hear of the Hulk?"

Pearl nods.

"Well, that's me."

"Oh," says Pearl.

She sits up and rubs her head.

"So you can help me get rid of it?" she asks.

Bruce shakes his head.

"No," he replied, "But I can help you come to terms with it. If... if you want me to."

Pearl thinks for a moment, then nods.

"Alright," declares Bruce, "Welcome to Other Guy 101."

* * *

Pearl stands in a dark room, looking at a mirror.

"You killed that man," she says.

 ** _He was our enemy._**

"Yeah, okay, I get it," grunts Pearl, "But that doesn't happen again, alright. If you're staying, you don't kill anyone else, got it?"

 ** _...yes._**

"Good," nods Pearl, "Number two."

She holds up a picture of Steven.

"This is Steven," she says, "We need to protect him."

 ** _But we need to live for ourselves._**

"We are," snaps Pearl, "I'm not caring for him because Rose said I had to. I'm doing it for _me._ Because _I_ love him. You got that."

 ** _Yes, I can sense your affection. Very well, I accept._**

Pearl takes a deep breath.

"Okay," she says, "Okay. So, uh, guess there's nothing left to say but..."

She closes her eyes and nods.

"Show yourself."

She opens her eyes and they turn milk white.

* * *

Aquamarine's pretty happy right now, if she does say so herself.

Amethyst's gem lies in the stand, Peridot desperately trying to cover it from the advancing quartz and her war hammer. Garnet, Lapis and Bismuth are in a vicious and losing fight with a fusion of five Amethysts. Even with Topaz refusing to fight (and she'd be punished for that in time), she'd managed to corner the fusion, Stevonnie, against the wall.

"Well," she says, twirling her wand in her hands, "Any last words before I drag you off to White Diamond?"

"Uh, just... just three," replies Stevonnie their face turning white, "Look behind you."

"You really expect me to fall for..."

She hears a scream and a poof. She turns around - the quartz with the hammer is gone, and in her face is a tall, glossy black figure, impossibly slender and yet visibly muscular. It's face is mostly made up of a wide maw and massive teeth, a long tongue visible behind it. Before anyone can react, it launches itself on the Amethyst fusion, biting down hard on the head. The force is such that it instantly poofs.

Aquamarine decides it may be time to leave, but before she can react, the creature extends its arm and pushes her by the next into the cliff wall, pinning her in place. It lunges forward, and she gets a clear look at it's face - there's a gemstone above the narrow white eyes, and the outline of what might have been hair under the strange black flesh - sweeping towards a rear point. Aquamarine realises she recognises this outline.

"I... _impossible!_ " exclaims Aquamarine.

Stevonnie's eyes widen.

"Pearl?" they ask.

The creature's face leans in closer to Aquamarine, it's putrid breath nearly overwhelming.

" **We,** " it growls, " **Are Venom.** "

* * *

AN: "Hi Venom, I'm Grandpa!"

"D'oh!"


	22. 22 10 18: Another Brick In The Wall

We don't need no knock-off LEGO...

* * *

 **22/10/18: Another Brick In The Wall**

Steven rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head. It was early morning; he had only just woken up, and he yearned for a few more moments in his nice, comfortable bed. Slowly, he opened his eyes, glancing at the hard plastic clock by his bed.

...wait, _what?_

Steven sat up, taking in his surroundings. The Beach House had changed dramatically overnight - the surfaces were hard, shiny and plastic-looking, with visible studs sticking out of the floor. He reached up to scratch his head, and felt a dull plastic clunk.

He looked at his hands - his fingers and thumbs were gone, replaced by simple, plastic claws. He turned slowly around and looked at his reflection in the window - his flat, printed face stared back at him.

" _AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!_ "

Steven jumped out of bed, sending his covers flying and landing on the floor next to the stairs. His panic awoke Connie, who had slept over in a sleeping bag that night. She winced and rubbed her eyes.

"Steven, what're you…"

She trailed off and stared at her own plastic claws.

"... _what._ "

She looked up. She and Steven stared at each other for a moment, taking in their new, somewhat blocky forms. There was a long silence.

" ** _AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!_** "

They jumped back. Steven curled up into the fetal position as Connie took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

"Steven, we're… we're _minifigs!_ " exclaimed Connie.

Steven sighed and sat back.

"Well," he said, "At least we're not Megabloks."

"Yo, what're you screamin' about?"

Amethyst had emerged from the Temple - she too was now a minifigure.

"Amethyst, we're plastic!" exclaimed Steven.

"... _and?_ "

"You… you don't notice anything different?" asked Connie.

"Nope," shrugged Amethyst, "Everything's same as always. Now you gonna get ready? We promised Peri we were gonna take her to see Sadie Killer, remember?"

"I…" Steven did not remember agreeing to that. He hadn't even been aware that Sadie was performing today.

"Yeah, sorry, we must've forgot," nodded Connie, "Uh, we'll be ready in a minute."

"Cool," said Amethyst, "I'll go get 'Dot."

She strolled back into the Temple.

"No-one else knows anything's changed," whispered Connie, "Until we figure out how to reverse this, play along."

Steven nodded.

* * *

Greg drove them in his van to the concert. It was just different enough from the normal van - just blocky and compact enough - to deeply disconcert Steven, and he found he was glad to have Connie's support. It was deeply strange to see Peridot's hair illuminated by the sun like a plastic pyramid, or to see tiny LEGO cars pass by, or to realise that everyone believed things had always been this way.

The concert wasn't in Beach City - it was an hour down the road in Wilmingmore. It was a surprisingly big venue, considering Sadie Killer and the Suspects was still a new band - an old theatre from Edwardian times.

They met Sadie at the door, clad in her ghost outfit - it seemed they were doing _G-G-G-Ghost_ today. She was talking to someone in a hoodie that Steven didn't recognise.

"Oh, hey Steven!" Sadie called as they approached, "You… uh… you got a mo-"

"Holy smokes!" exclaimed Amethyst, "You got _Wyldstyle_ in the band?!"

" _Very_ impressive," nodded Peridot.

There was a moment's silence.

"I have no idea who that is."

"Hey, c'mon, it's just Lucy these days," Lucy replied, "And I'm not in the band. Just here to check it out, you know?"

"Cool," nodded Amethyst, "Hey, you wanna talk, world-saver to world-saver? I wanna swap tips…"

She led Lucy, Peridot and Greg away, leaving Steven, Connie and Sadie alone.

"The whole world changed last night, right?" asked Sadie, "I… I'm not going nuts?"

"Nope, we noticed too," replied Steven.

He scratched his plastic chin.

"Wonder why we remember while no-one else-"

" _Ladies and gentlemen!_ "

There was a loud crash as a giant, pudgy, boy-shaped robot suddenly burst through a building.

" _Put your claws together for Lil' Gideon Gleeful!_ " the robot burst, " _By which I mean myself; I'm the pilot, not the robot. In any case, I'm here to…_ "

"SILENCE!"

Magneto suddenly levitated down from the sky.

"You fool!" he sneered, "You have no comprehension of what truly matters. Your plan is base and futile next to my grand scheme of mutant supremacy!"

" _Which is why you're attackin' a rock concert?_ " snapped Gideon.

"Oh, go on then, tell me your plan, insect!"

There was a long silence.

" _Uh… y'all know, I don't rightly recall. But I'm sure it was brilliant before you made me forget it, you bucketheaded pile of- wait, nonono_ _ **nonoNOOOO!**_ "

With a wave of his claw, Magneto sent Gideon's robot flying into the distance.

"Now, where were we?"

"Not so fast, evildoer!"

With a thunderous whoosh and the triumphant sound of his theme song, Superman landed in the street in front of Magneto.

"Your reign of terror ends here!" boomed Superman, "For I'm…"

A taxi suddenly pulled up next to him and Green Lantern tumbled out.

"Wait, wait, I'm here too!" he exclaimed, "Don't start without me!"

"A cab? Seriously?" sniffed Superman.

"My ring needs charging and I haven't downloaded the Uber app…"

"You are _such_ an embarrassment."

"Sorry, Superman."

Steven and his friends watched in utter confusion as Superman and Magneto threw themselves at each other.

"Is this what having an episode is like?" asked Sadie.

"I think I need to sit down," muttered Connie.

"Maybe we should just head inside," said Steven, shrugging.

They walked inside. Just as they passed through the foyer, they heard a strange sound. Steven rubbed his aching head as a blue box appeared in front of them, and an old man stepped out.

"Wait!" he exclaimed in a thick Scottish brogue, "If you play the concert today, the Daleks will take over the universe!"

"What? Daleks?" exclaimed Sadie, "What the heck are you talking about?"

* * *

Backstage, three Daleks were hidden under tarpaulins.

"ONCE THE CON-CERT BE-GINS," blared one, "WE WILL DIS-GUISE OUR-SELVES AS SOUND EQ-UIP-MENT! WHEN THEY LEAST EX-PECT IT, WE SHALL RE-VEAL OUR TRUE PUR-POSE AND _EX-TER-MIN-ATE THEM!_ "

"WAIT," another blared, "I DON'T THINK I QUITE GRASP THE CON-CEPT OF THE PLAAAAAAN!"

"SIL-ENCE! YOU ARE NOT BE-ING A PRO-PER DA-LEK! EX-TER-MIN-ATE! _EX-TER-MIN-ATE!_ _ **EX-TER-MIN-AAAAAAAAAAAATE!**_ "

The other two Daleks promptly zapped the third, blowing it up.

Sour Cream, having watched the incident from afar, whistled.

"That's some seriously hardcore sound equipment," he said.

* * *

"So, if I play tonight, the Daleks win," mused Sadie, "So I guess I won't the-"

She was cut off as a blocky Delorean burst out of nowhere, skidding to a halt in the foyer. Another old man burst out, waving his arms in the air.

"You've got to play that concert!" he exclaimed, "Your future depends on it!"

"Don't listen to him!" shouted the first time traveller, "He's lying, and his time machine's rubbish!"

" _Great Scott!_ " exclaimed the second time traveller, "Why don't you come over here and say that to my face?"

"What, you challenging me to a fight?" demanded the first time traveller.

"Oh, I'm going to kick your butt so hard they'll feel it in Biff Tannen's 1985!" declared the second time traveller.

As the two men devolved into personal insults, Steven, Connie and Sadie hurriedly moved on. They reached a back room - Sadie clutched her head and screamed.

"What is happening?" she exclaimed, "Why are we LEGO? _Who are these people?!_ "

"I can explain."

A minifigure stepped out of the shadows.

"Who are you?" Connie gasped.

The man smiled.

"I'm former President Harry S Truman."

" _Floyd!_ "

The world suddenly shifted. The figure of Truman froze, his expression becoming neutral. The roof vanished, revealing a truly enormous basement roof, and two gigantic human figures towering over them.

"Floyd, when I said you could use your powers constructively, this isn't what I had in mind!" I snapped, crossing my arms.

"I'm making a story," said Floyd bluntly.

"Duly noted," I grunted, "Turn them back or I report this to the parole board."

"I… I…"

"Do you want to go back to Wizard Jail?" I demanded.

Floyd bowed his head.

"No."

"Well, you know what to do."

Floyd snapped his fingers. In a flash, Steven, Connie and Sadie were back to their normal sizes and forms, and the model theatre they'd been inside had been smashed to pieces under their weight.

"Wait, what about our friends?" asked Steven.

"I sent them home, and most of the rest was just me moving the figs around," replied Floyd, "Did I do good?"

"No, there wasn't really a narrative," said Connie, "It was kind of lame and random."

"That was a really impressive Gideon robot, though," admitted Sadie, "You did really well building that."

There was a long silence as Floyd awkwardly rubbed his arm.

"You _did_ build that robot yourself, right?" asked Sadie.

Floyd bit his lip.

"Floyd," I grunted, "You know what to do."

Floyd nodded and snapped his fingers.

One puff of smoke later and we were standing in the middle of the Kenyan savannah.

"God damn it, Floyd," I muttered.

* * *

AN: Oh, Floyd!


	23. 23 10 18: Sea to Shining Sea

One thing I was always determined to do this year was to write a sequel to _The Trans-European Express_ from last year. Well, here it is.

* * *

 **23/10/18: Sea to Shining Sea**

I had barely returned from Moscow when my editor dispatched me abroad again.

The event was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the paper. San Francisco, that great cultural hub of America, was holding the largest art exhibition ever known to man - or at least they claimed it was. Artworks and cultural treasures would be gathered in the city for two weeks, for any American with the means to visit it to peruse. My editor, who perhaps knew me too well, proposed I make a trip of it - eschewing the quick and easy Trans-America Express from Washington to Los Angeles, and taking the slower, traditional route along the Transcontinental Railroad.

My trip from London to New York City was pleasant, with little turbulence or fanfare. I had considered crossing on one of White Star's famed ocean liners to add to my experience, but the time I had allotted myself to cross the continent wasn't quite that generous. I hurried through the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Terminal and into the city, to catch my first train from Grand Central Station. On the way, I caught glimpse of the Atlantic - vast, blue and endless, just as any ocean is.

Grand Central is a vast structure - a testament, they say, to American design ingenuity. It sits in the shadow of enormous skyscrapers, each marked with the names of the biggest companies; Ford, General Motors, Baldwin, United Fruit, Edison - there are a hundred others. It is built in the striking art deco style that a casual observer might relate with the 'Social Novel' movement of the 1940s. I remember, back in my high school days, reading the last of William F. Buckley's books, _Cities of Gold_ \- published just before he was arrested for his role in the November Plot of 1964. He describes Grand Central as a 'hulking, arrogant monument to American exceptionalism.' Arrogant, perhaps, but it is certainly visually striking.

The ticket booth for the New York Central Railroad was strategically positioned under the fifteen foot tall sculpture of Columbia engraved into the wall. This sculpture points dramatically westward, a symbol of the Manifest Destiny of the United States. I didn't think too much about it; it wasn't too dissimilar to the myriad of statues of Britannia that dot the British Isles. Yet I could not help but notice the woman behind me grimace as she regarded this most patriotic of symbols.

Just before 6pm, I boarded the _Twenty-First Century Limited_ , the train the NYC boldly claims is the 'most famous in the world.' There had been significant litigation between them and the Great Western Railway in England back in the 1960s, when both claimed to have the fastest scheduled service in the world, but these days such things are irrelevant. You cannot beat the Trans-America for speed. The only hope for survival is winning in the luxury or the price stakes, and the Twenty-First Century Limited clearly goes for the former.

I took dinner with a fellow journalist, Ms. Shandra Jimenez of the Chicago Tribune. She wished to discuss the unpleasantness in Moscow, which, as I'm sure you can understand, I was in no hurry to revisit. As a result, we turned to domestic affairs.

"Have you heard?" she asked, "The Supreme Court passed its ruling on the Transcontinental Railroad."

"I have been following that, but I hadn't checked the paper today," I replied.

Jimenez smirked. "Yeah, I took you for a train buff. They ruled in favour of the Central Pacific."

"So they'll buy out the Union Pacific," I mused, "I suppose that means you'll get an unbroken train from San Francisco to Chicago soon enough."

"Yep," nodded Jimenez, "They're very upset about it over at Promontory. If they lose the trade they get from people changing trains..."

I slept peacefully that night as the train swept through Ohio. The only disturbance was a quiet, distant bang that briefly stirred me, but which I paid little heed to.

I soon found out what it had been.

* * *

All of the televisions in the Lounge Chair were playing the news, and the story they regaled was grim. A car bomb had been set off at the state legislature in Columbus, and while no-one had been seriously hurt, there was a sense of panic in the streets of the city. There were whispered rumours that it had been another attempted attack by the Kennedy Men.

The Kennedy Men take their name from the hated 1960s authoritarian, President John Kennedy. His term ended in landslide defeat after the high-profile deaths of William F. Buckley and Malcolm Little in prison, and most regard him poorly. The Kennedy Men view him as a heroic anti-communist and anti-liberal bulldog, and desire to bring about the society they think he would have wanted. They'd sent death threats to prominent liberal, socialist and pro-Transhuman politicians and made a few abortive plots, but this was the closest they'd ever come to pulling off an attack.

 _If_ it was them, of course. Nobody really knew at the time.

The train pulled into Chicago on schedule, giving me ample time to change trains and examine the station. Chicago's LaSalle Street Station isn't quite as monumental as Grand Central, but it's still a grand old building. The _Commodore Vanderbilt_ , the first streamlined steam locomotive in the United States, stands on a plinth in the concourse. Behind it are the marble sculptures of the Great Emancipators; Lincoln, Hamlin and Grant.

The train from Chicago to Omaha doesn't warrant a name - it's a standard passenger service behind a standard, if weary-looking, diesel engine. As we trundled over the border into the flat cornfields of Iowa, I took some time to read the paper. By now, it had been confirmed beyond reasonable doubt that the Kennedy Men had been behind the Columbus attack - a man, Freidrich Showenhower, had been arrested in connection with the bombing, and there was speculation that he was on the Kaiser's payroll.

The other news was similarly grim - another crackdown in Warsaw (or Warschau, as the paper insisted on calling it), a spike in unemployment, renewed fighting between the Qing and the Nationalists in China. Before long, I set down the paper; there is only so much calamity one can take.

At this point, I suddenly took notice of a woman at the other end of the carriage - the same woman from Grand Central. She was a big and muscular sort, with long and thick hair and a permanent grimace on her face. Her nose was slightly redder than the rest of her tanned skin. I wondered what brought her this way, and why she seemed so out of sorts.

I shook the thought from my head and turned away. I felt like I was intruding somewhere where I didn't belong.

* * *

If there's one man Americans truly love, the Kennedy Men excepted, it is Richard Nixon.

The man was everything an American could want in a President; fiercely liberal, deeply socially conscious, personable, and a war hero besides. Major Nixon (he had initially attempted to join the Navy, but had been persuaded into the Army) is regarded as the figurehead of the great social rights movements of the 1960s, the breath of fresh air following Iron Jack Kennedy.

The Hotel Iowa in Omaha makes an enormous deal out of the fact that Nixon once slept there, and the lobby is peppered with paraphernalia related to him. They even have his rifle from the Japan-American War - or so they claim.

I stayed overnight in one of their cheap rooms - after all, the trip was about trains, not hotels. After dinner, I again found myself in a discussion, this time with some of the staff.

"This Central Pacific deal's starting to worry me," the receptionist, Sadie Miller, informed me, "If they start running trains direct from California to Chicago, that's half our revenue gone."

"And we're barely breaking even as it is," grumbled Valerie, one of the waitresses, "Only things we've got going for us are the Nixon thing and that we're close to the station."

"Are there other jobs in Omaha?" I asked.

Valerie snorted. "In _this_ economy?"

"Worst part is," said Jenny, a cleaner who was visibly transhuman, "We can't even get anyone to care. Everyone's saying how a direct route from Frisco to Chicago's gonna be a miracle. Maybe it is, for the rich, but what about us?"

A well-groomed man sniffed as he strode past.

"Maybe," he said snootily, "If you _worked_ harder and asked for _less_ _money_ , you'd get better jobs."

He strolled away before anyone could answer.

"You first," muttered Jenny bitterly.

Sadie shook her head.

"All I can say is, I'm not looking forward to the future," she told me, "I mean, they say it's gonna be bright, but who for?"

* * *

The _Overland Limited_ had seen better days. The brilliant yellow finish of the train was starting to peel, and the coaches were old and dusty. It was this train that would take me as far west as Promontory in Utah, where I'd change to the Central Pacific for the remaining journey to San Francisco.

From Omaha, we entered Nebraska and the Great Plains, and swept through old, tiny towns. Some were littered with abandoned cars and farm machinery, and the old man sitting across from me told me that the people there had long given up.

"The railroad doesn't stop there anymore," he said, "And all the produce comes from bulk farming. There's nothing left to keep 'em going."

"What brings you out here?" I asked.

The old man pursed his lips.

"James Barnes," he introduced himself at last, "I'm off to see an old friend at a place called April Farm."

He sighed heavily.

"We went out there together, after the War," he said wearily, "Starting anew, away from Brooklyn. But life was still harsh out there. You ever see a Western, son?"

I nodded.

"There were still outlaws round these parts way into the fifties," he said, "Mostly gun-runners, bootleggers, that sort of thing. And Ste... my friend, he couldn't abide injustice. He tried to stand up for them that couldn't stand up."

"What happened to him?"

"The big outlaw back then, Schmidt, he had a US Marshal friend and managed to get him on charges of vigilantism," he replied gravely, "They sent out the Bureau, shot him like a dog."

He averted his eyes, gazing out the window.

"I've spent fifty years thinking it should've been me."

I could feel the deep, bitter pain in his voice, and wondered if I had ventured too far in my conversation; if I had opened an old wound.

"I've tried to get his name cleared for so long," he continued, "I... I'm out of time. I'm just so _tired._ So I'm going back to be with him, one more time."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"It never stops hurting?" I asked.

"No," he replied, "But all the pain is worth it for having known him."

Late that night, I awoke to hear the soft sound of singing from the opposite bunk.

 _"Oh bury me not on the lone prairie,  
Where the coyotes wail and the wind blows free,  
And when I die, don't bury me,  
'neath the Western sky on the lone prairie..."_

I didn't get any further sleep that night.

* * *

Promontory isn't a particularly big town. The busiest place in town is the station, which bustles with activity whenever the _Overland_ meets the _City of San Francisco_. There are market stalls set up to cater for passengers, and the general store experiences a bumper trade.

The realisation that this would all disappear with the Union Pacific weighed heavily upon me.

As I wandered the platform, my eyes fell upon a stall offering 'genuine Indian artefacts.' 'Genuine' they were - I could clearly see the 'Made in Kolkata' label on one of his quilts. The stall runner was regaling his customers with wild and fabricated tales of daring do on the frontier, making significant note of the 'noble Indians' and the 'respectful' fighting of the Cavalry on the frontier.

I suppose he had to make money somehow.

The Central Pacific were doing much better than the Union Pacific. Their train was clean, the stainless steel coaches gleaming in the sunlight. The big, red diesel at the front was brand new, fresh of the production line at Baldwin, and the engine did not cough and splutter in the same way it's tired yellow counterpart did on the other platform.

As I inspected this new diesel, I again saw the woman from New York. She was crouched next to the engine, intently studying the axle boxes. Presently she stood up and walked briskly back down the train, leaving me alone.

The railfan in me was deeply intrigued by this brand new engine, and I wondered how it would handle. But I would have been remiss if I left before walking out to the original site of the Golden Spike Ceremony, where the replicas of the original steam locomotives stand. Here, to the west, stands the Central Pacific's _Jupiter_ \- to the east is the Union Pacific's No. 119. In the middle stands a granite monument to the achievement that, so it claims, toil, sweat and American genius created.

It was hard to see the writing, though - the inscription was covered in a spray-painted message; _CP GO TO HELL._

* * *

The new diesel was not as impressive as anticipated. Shortly after sundown that night, it suddenly ground to a halt in the middle of the sagebrush steppe of north-eastern Nevada. We were informed by the train's PA system that the axle boxes had run hot, that there was no easy fix, and that a replacement engine would arrive the following morning.

They took the opportunity to open the doors, and allow passengers to experience the cool night air. The novelty of this soon wore off for most of the passengers and they retired to bed, but I stuck around. As the lights went out on the train, I marvelled at the expanse of stars in the sky above. I had never seen so many.

I was about to climb back aboard the train when I saw a figure on the rise by the railway line. Perplexed, I wandered towards it, wondering who it might be.

It soon became clear that it was the woman.

She stood, head bowed, over an empty patch of land, in the middle of which stood a small stone monolith. A closer inspection revealed the words - ' _In memory of bold Captain Johnson's victory here in a skirmish with Red Savages on 17 August 1869._ '

"How does this place feel to you?" she asked suddenly.

I jumped. I hadn't realised that she'd notice my presence.

"I..." I swallowed. "Dead. It feels very... _dead._ "

"It isn't supposed to be," the woman replied, "There was a village here, once - there were people. They were Tsogwiyuyugi."

"And what happened to them?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.

" _Bold_ ," the woman spat the word, "Captain Johnson. His cavalry burnt the village. He murdered them. Only a few children managed to escape - and most of them were adopted by _missionaries._ It wasn't enough to kill the people, or take the land - they had to destroy the culture, too."

I bit my lip. I had a hundred replies, but all sounded trite in my head.

"Is that why you're here?" I said.

I mentally kicked myself - functionally, I had just accused her of sabotaging the train. But she just shrugged and spoke on.

"This is where my family comes from," she replied, "All of my sisters. I..."

I remembered Barnes, back on the _Overland_.

"You came back to be with them," I said, "One more time."

She nodded, and I knew I'd be walking back alone.

We stood in silence for a long time. Eventually, light began to appear on the horizon, and I heard the sound of a diesel horn in the far distance. Morning was coming. It was time to leave.

Once more, I turned to the woman.

"I have to know," I said, "Who are you? And if this village was destroyed in 1869, how..."

"I'm Jasper," the woman replied, "And there's some things you don't need to know."

She turned back to the monument.

"When you get to San Francisco," she said, "And you write for your newspaper, tell them the Tsogwiyuyugi are still here."

I nodded before slowly turning around and walking back towards the train.

Before long, the new diesel - an older one, quite ironically - was attached to the train, and slowly it began to slide away along the railway line. I took one more moment to glance out the window - there, in the silver-blue twilight, I caught glimpse of Jasper one more time. She turned her head, and for a moment I swear our eyes met.

Then she was gone, replaced by the wide emptiness of the sagebrush plain.

* * *

The next day, we rolled into San Francisco.

I gazed out the window at the modern metropolis we now arrived in. It is a city on the edge of tomorrow; the heartland of technology, transhumanism and American culture. As we pulled into the brand new Central Terminus, we passed under the Maglev that will one day stretch as far as San Diego, and over the Great Nuclear Railroad of 1952, that runs all the way to Anchorage. It sits in the shadow of enormous skyscrapers, each marked with the names of the biggest companies; Ford, General Motors, Baldwin, United Fruit, Edison - there are a hundred others.

Just before the station, there was a billboard. It was an advertisement for a political candidate, and it proclaimed; 'FORGET THE PAST. SEIZE THE FUTURE.'

As I stepped onto the platform and walked out of the station, I stopped for a moment to regard one more statue - that of the Puritan John Winthrop, holding his Bible and reading from the parable of the Sermon on the Mount before he sailed for Massachusetts in 1630. His words were inscribed on the plinth; 'You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.'

I wandered on to the streetcar which would take me to my hotel. As I sat down and as we trundled through the city, I thought back to that book from my childhood - _Cities of Gold_. Towards the end, there is a scene where Buckley's protagonist is brought before the court on charges of provoking unlawful assembly. He responds with long monologue, which ends as such.

' _...you have built these cities of gold on the blood and tears and weathered bones of civilizations. You sold wagered every ounce of your common decency to buy factories and railroad and crypto-colonies overseas. You race to the future and leave everyone behind - in doing so, you do nothing but entrench the past._ '

I looked out the window once more as we passed a newspaper stand. The top stories were displayed on the side; 'CENTRAL PACIFIC ACQUIRES UNION PACIFIC - 200 LAID OFF.' 'KENNEDY MEN STILL AT LARGE.' 'OAKLAND MAN SHOT BY LAW ENFORCEMENT.' 'CP TO SHUT DOWN PROMONTORY STATION IN NEW YEAR.'

I had come three thousand miles, and yet in that moment, I felt as if I had not moved at all.

* * *

AN: _'...but all the towns and people seem to fade into a bad dream...'_ \- 'The City of New Orleans', Steve Goodman (made famous by Arlo Guthrie)


	24. 24 10 18: Feeling Presidential

Hail to the chief?

* * *

 **24/10/18: Feeling Presidential**

 _...from the webpage List of Presidents of the United States of America, Encyclopaedia Antarctica, 2077._

...resulting in his humiliating defeat, winning only Alabama.

The next President, **Lisa Simpson** , was widely regarded as the natural successor to the liberal tradition of Democratic Presidents like Roosevelt, Kennedy and Johnson. Despite several deaths at her inauguration, where an actual glass ceiling was unwisely installed and shattered in the Capitol rotunda, her first terms was well regarded. Simpson reaffirmed the nation's commitment to preventing global warming, finally withdrew the last troops from Afghanistan and cancelled corporate tax cuts. She was re-elected in a landslide, but her second term is considered as something of a disappointment, largely due to internal sabotage by her brother, Bartholomew Simpson, on the behalf of the 'RAND Corporation and the Saucer People.' (This is considered likely to have been code for Russia.)

In 2028, Simpson's designated successor was defeated by **Winifred Fowl** _,_ who was one hundred and thirty at the time of her election. Fowl came into office at a dark time in American history - shortly after inauguration, the Martian Rocket Bubble burst, plunging the country into depression that was both financial and emotional. Fowl was widely blamed for the ensuing crisis, although historians now believe she simply inherited the mess rather than caused it. Despite the myriad of problems that swamped her administration, Fowl appointed Justice Sheen Estevez to the Supreme Court, who became the deciding vote that ended the pineapple-on-pizza debate (the answer, in the end, was that it was acceptable.)

Public dissatisfaction with both major parties propelled **Fred Jones** of the Trap Construction Party into power in 2032. (they were soon renamed the Justice Party.) Jones soon gained a reputation as a harsh law-and-order autocrat. His iron heel crushed criminals who posed as monsters and unfortunate trick-or-treaters in the wrong place with equal vigour, and the Meddling Kids Act allowed them to be jailed indefinitely without trial. He dissolved NATO with a curt diplomatic note ("Let's split up, gang."), closed the nation's borders to all persons whose names began with the prefix 'old man', and brought the nation closer to a fascist dictatorship than any other president before or since. He was eventually deposed by a military coup, and spent the rest of his days in exile in Paraguay. Even today, distasteful 'unmasking' memes remain popular on right-wing image boards. After Jones' deposal, the country was briefly ruled by General Chaos, but things were soon brought back to normal by the 2036 elections.

 **Mason Pines** , commonly called 'Dipper,' won the 2036 elections on his pro-supernatural rights platform, his awkward charm and the fact that he was the only candidate who wasn't literally a supervillain. He was the first President from the Progressive Party, and claimed that the Bull Moose had come to him in a dream to congratulation. Scholars of his life generally agree that this is generally the sort of thing that tended to happen to him. The two terms of the Pines Administration were generally quiet, with his monster rights program processing largely through Supreme Court rulings rather than landmark legislation. There was a brief conflict in 2039 with the Free People's Democratic Utopian Republic of Quebec, but that country soon fell apart under its own absurdly totalitarian weight. After his Presidency, he retired to Gravity Falls to write his memoirs and hunt ghosts, and eventually he and his wife Wendy ascended to become beings of pure weird. Again, scholars of his life agree that this is the sort of thing that tended to happen to him.

The next president, again a Progressive, was **Stevonnie Mahesniverse**. They are notable for being the first non-binary president, the first fusion president, and the first (half) alien president. They ran the country for three terms and are still considered one of the Greatest Presidents of All Time. They abolished the Electoral College, provided everyone with free education and healthcare, and successfully defended the Earth from the forces of White Diamond, the Daleks, Thanos and the Cosmic Ned (not all at the same time.) They recreated the alliance between democratic nations, vigorously supported the UN and broke up the tech monopolies. They are, to this day, the only president to have an entirely LGBT cabinet. They eventually stepped down to become the first President of Homeworld, a position they still hold to this day. (In the interests of full disclosure, this encyclopaedia was sponsored by the Institute for Crystal Gem Culture and their director, Peridot.)

In 2056, the Justice Party returned to power under the banner of **Bruce Wayne**. His 'I Am Prepared For Literally Everything' platform greatly appealed to voters, but unfortunately, he almost immediately disappeared. Some conspiracy theories connect this to the sudden exile of Batman into the Phantom Zone the same day, but the evidence is circumstantial. He was replaced by his Vice President, **Carl Wheezer** , whose presidency was overshadowed by the controversy of the publication of his love letters to Judy Neutron. This destroyed his career, and greatly weirded out his friends.

2060 saw the election of **Denzel Q. Crocker** of the Truth Party. Crocker was considered an unstable but effective president, whose eccentricities - such as banning Christmas, automatically failing every elementary school student in the country and devoting a quarter of the Pentagon's budget to fairy hunting - were balanced out by his apt handling of the national economy. As a result, he was elected to a second term, but died suddenly in the Oval Office - he fell out the window whilst gesticulating wildly and shouting about fairies. He was briefly followed by **Dib Membrane** , who rolled back some of his more eccentric policies (while instituting his own, such as the Department of Hunting Bigfoot), but was unable to win election in his own right.

Like Pines before her, **Danielle Fenton** of the Progressive Party was widely regarded as a breath of fresh air after the instability of previous four presidents. At the time of writing she remains president, and has recently appointed Bartholomew Simpson to the Supreme Court. Despite unfounded speculation that she is a ghost and a clone, Fenton has maintained popular support, and should she run, seems likely to win a third term. However, the voting public can be fickle, and time will tell if William Cipher's 'Chaos and Confusion' platform will take off with the public...

* * *

AN: Don't blame me, I voted for Kodos.


	25. 25 10 18: House Call

Meanwhile, in Washington DC...

* * *

 **25/10/18: House Call**

"...ultimately our actions in Canada and Mexico are in keeping with the Monroe Doctrine, which has guided American foreign policy since the 1820s, and furthermore…"

"Mr. President, sir."

President Henry Edward Fulton grimaced as the Secret Service agent approached.

"I'm in the middle of something…" he began to protest.

"Stanford Pines is here."

Fulton frowned, putting his hand over the microphone as he replied.

"He snuck in?"

"No, sir, he walked in the front door."

" _What?!_ "

"He says he wants to parley."

Fulton pursed his lips, slowly removing his hand from the microphone.

"No more questions," he said, "I'm afraid something has come up."

* * *

They had prepared the welcoming committee, Ford noted. A dozen secret service agents, five marines and a few senior officers were gathered around the Oval Office, their weapons drawn. The message was clear - no funny business.

Fulton sat at his desk, flanked by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Massinger, and Secretary of State William Wilder. Wilder in particular looked wary - his arms were crossed over his chest, his face set in a deep scowl.

"Given the circumstances, I assume I'm not being offered a biscuit," said Ford wryly.

"This," Fulton held up a Japanese diplomatic passport, "Is the only reason you're not being filled with holes right now. What do you want, Mr. Pines."

" _Dr._ Pines," replied Ford, "I didn't earn twelve PhDs to be called mister."

"Get to the point," snapped Wilder.

"Very well," said Ford, "My offer is this. Withdraw from Wakanda, roll back these undemocratic reforms and give up Rausseman."

"Or what?" sniffed Wilder.

"Or I can offer you nothing but your complete destruction," replied Ford, "If you agree, there may be some chance that you can salvage your political career. If not, we will air every scrap of dirt Rausseman has on you, once he's been defeated. It's your call."

"Once he's been defeated?" exclaimed Fulton, "Doctor, you're in no strategic position to make demands! We're ten miles from the Wakandan capital, on the eve of our final drive! Even the most optimistic estimate has you done by the beginning of November! You really think I'm gonna go for this when you hold none of the cards?"

"We have a secret weapon," replied Ford bluntly.

There was a long silence.

"Then why haven't you used it?" demanded Massinger at last.

"The time hasn't yet come. It may not even have to."

Ford crossed his arms.

"It all depends on what you say next."

Fulton contemplated, biting his lip. He glanced nervously at Wilder; then, seeing the Secretary of State's face remain firm, steeled himself and turned back to Ford.

"You're bluffing," he said, "And in any case, the United States of America does not negotiate with terrorists."

"Odd," replied Ford, "Seeing as you keep working with PURITY."

Fulton stood up, his face turning red.

"You have _ten minutes_ to get off _my prop-_ "

"Mr. President!"

A young aide burst into the room, his face an ashen white.

"Peterson? Uh, what-what did you hear?" stammered Fulton, flustered.

The aide said nothing, pointing out the window with a shaking hand.

Fulton turned, gazing out the window. He could see dark clouds - a storm was gathering - but more notably, he could see a faint red glow at the base of the distant Washington Monument. He squinted, trying to get a better look.

Suddenly, a figure with wings of fire levitated in front of the monument. Seconds later, the giant obelisk was engulfed in fire. The figure stood before it for a moment, arms outstretched, before shooting up into the sky, leaving the flaming monument to burn.

"Mother of God!" exclaimed the President.

"Get him out of here!" snapped Massinger, "Now?"

The Secret Service immediately sprung to action, forming a scrum around Fulton and bolting out the door with their charge - Wilder sprinted after them. The marines, officers and Massinger remained behind, retaining their position around Ford.

"Uh, shouldn't you…"

"I'm not leaving trash in the Oval Office," snarled Massinger, "Men! Take aim!"

The marines and officers raised their guns, taking careful aim.

"You don't want to do this, gentlemen," warned Ford, "This is not going to be a fair…"

" _Fire!_ "

The room was filled with a deafening cacophony of gunfire. As each round came into contact with Ford, it suddenly struck an invisible field that briefly glowed blue after the impact, completely eliminating their velocity.

Ford responded quickly, drawing a strange, three-barrelled cylindrical gun from his coat. He aimed and fired, and three green beams burst from the barrels, each slamming into a marine and pushing them back against the wall. He swung around, knocking every defender out in groups of three, until there were none left standing.

"Kinetic Blaster, you idiots," he snapped, "I warned you!"

He heard a click and turned around. Massinger stood behind the Resolute Desk, aiming an enormous pistol at Ford's head.

"This thing loads a .50 calibre bullet," he snarled, "Are you feeling lucky, punk?"

"Luckier than you, Dirty Harry," replied Ford, raising his blaster.

Suddenly, the window shattered, exposing the office to heavy wind. A figure jumped up from the Rose Garden, landing next to Massinger and pulling him into a headlock.

Ford's eyes widened.

" _Stanley?_ "

Stan looked at his twin, his face immediately twisting into a frown.

"Darn it, you weren't supposed to be here," he muttered.

"Weren't sup... Stanley, you're _alive!_ " exclaimed Ford, "But-but I saw him kill you!"

"Yeah, I got better," growled Stanley, "Now get out of here, we're sendin' a message."

"Sending a..."

Ford looked towards the burning Washington Monument.

"That... that was _you_ ," he gasped, "But... but there would've been _people_ there, I... please tell me you warned them."

Stan glared at his brother, and for a moment, Ford perceived a faint red tinge in his irises.

"If we warned them, it wouldn't send a message."

There was a long silence.

"Don't you see, Pines?" snarled Massinger, "They're _animals!_ They-"

"Enough outta you."

Stan's hands glowed red. Massinger's face contorted in pain; he screamed as steam began to rise from his body. In a few seconds, all that remained was a blackened, mummified corpse, the limbs twisted and distorted - then, he dissolved into ash.

"St-Stanley?" spluttered Ford.

"We're making a statement," snapped Stan, "On behalf of the Phoenix. If you don't wanna get caught up in it, I suggest you leave."

"Suggest... Stan, there are _civilians_ in here!" exclaimed Ford, "Ordinary people! Aides, clerks, journalists, they didn't have anything to do with Fulton or Rausseman! You burn the White House, you'll assuredly..."

"It happens, Ford, that's how you win battles," replied Stan.

"But they're _innocent!_ "

"If they're so innocent," snapped Stan, "Where were they when Rausseman killed the mutants, or tried to blow up the Inhumans, or killed the people who were supposed to be protecting them? They let it happen, Stanford!"

He raised his hands, and flames appeared on his palms.

"They're _culpable_ , and they're gonna _reap the whirlwind._ "

Ford shook his head.

"This isn't you, Stanley," he said softly.

"The Phoenix opened my eyes," Stan replied simply.

The door suddenly flew open. A pair of soldiers burst in, rifles ready.

"There's two of 'em!" one shouted.

"Well then shoot 'em both!" exclaimed the other.

Stan extended his hands, and two jets of flame burst from them, striking the soldiers and instantly incinerating them. Behind them, Ford could hear the shouts of reinforcements - it was time for him to leave.

"Stan, I... I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what's happened to you, but when I can, I'll save you..."

" _I. Don't. Need. Saving._ "

Ford winced at Stan's withering gaze before bolting out the door. As he hurried down the corridor, he heard more shouts and gunfire - then the unmistakable sound of roaring flame.

* * *

The door opened, and Ford raced onto the White House roof. He skidded to a halt as the rooftop sniper drew his gun on him.

"Lights out, you son of a-"

 _THUNK._

The sniper slumped to the ground, revealing Tambry, a rock held in her hands.

"Nice work," nodded Ford, "Did you get it."

Tambry showed him a USB.

"By the way," she added, "I am completely terrified right now."

"You and me both."

" _Stop! Hands up!_ "

They turned around. A small squad of Secret Service agents had burst onto the roof, and were now in the process of surrounding them. Before they could move, they were cut off against the edge of the roof.

"You're under arrest for high treason!" the lead agent bellowed.

Tambry swallowed, but Ford simply crossed his arms.

"Am I?" he said, "Well, how about that, game's up. Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen - there's just one problem."

"The hell are you talking about?" demanded the agent.

Ford smirked, and behind him the Quinjet uncloaked.

"We're not alone."

Steve Rogers leapt down from the Quinjet, his shield drawn. The agents opened fire, their bullets bouncing harmlessly off the vibranium material. Behind him, Kamala leaned out of the jet, stretching both her arms - giant fists knocked the agents down from both directions like a row of dominos, swiftly clearing the roof.

"Doctor," nodded Steve.

"Captain," nodded Ford.

"Okay," said Tambry, "This is actually improbably awesome."

"Shut up and get in the jet!" shouted Kamala.

Ford, Steve and Tambry quickly jumped onto the ramp, and the Quinjet began to lift off. The pilot called back from the cockpit.

"Okay, next stop Wakanda!" called Wendy.

"Since when can you fly a Quinjet?" demanded Tambry.

"Hey, I got lessons from Sam Wilson," shrugged Wendy, "I know what I'm doing. Mostly."

"Six o'clock!" Steve shouted.

Behind them, a blue figure was soaring towards them. Ford instinctively stepped back as Lapis Lazuli swooped towards the ramp, an enormous bubble of flaming water held over her head.

"Greek fire!" exclaimed Ford, "If it wasn't coming to destroy us, I'd be impressed!"

"Brace!" shouted Kamala.

The impact never came. Seconds before Lapis reached the Quinjet, a sudden crack rang out - there was a second sniper on the roof of the White House's East Wing, and his shot had hit home. Lapis seemed to stumble midair, tumbling through the sky and landing hard in the back of Quinjet.

Ford shot round, aiming his kinetic blaster at the blue gem. She lay limp for a moment, before slowly climbing to her feet, rubbing her head.

"She's... she's gone..." she muttered.

"Who's gone?" asked Steve.

"The Phoenix," mused Ford, "It... _she_ was controlling you?"

Lapis nodded.

"I... I could hear her telling me to do things," she said, "I _wanted_ to do them, I..."

Shaking, she buried her head in her arms. Sympathetically, Kamala sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder.

Ford and Steve looked out the back of the Quinjet at the city below. Slowly, the interior of the White House was becoming engulfed with flame, fire engines hurtling towards it from the nearest stations. In the far distance, they could see Marine One flying away. They could no longer see the Phoenix - perhaps her work was already done, and Stan was simply mopping up.

"This complicates things," sighed Ford, "What I don't understand is how Lapis shook the mind control. What did it? Was it the landing or..."

"No."

Steve was bent over - he picked up a spent bullet from the floor. It was enormous, but much more notable was the glowing blue cylinder attached to the head, leaking slime like a broken pen lid. It was the bullet that had hit Lapis.

"I'm pretty sure it had something to do with this," said Steve.

* * *

Rain fell on the blackened shell of the White House.

Fulton stood outside, sheltering under an umbrella. His expression was grave; he seemed deeply troubled.

"Mr. President, sir?"

A general walked up behind him, smartly saluting the President.

"General," said Fulton, clenching his fists, "I want Wakanda _flattened_ for this."

He turned around.

"Sir, in due respect, there's no evidence that..."

"Get on the horn with Strategic Air Command," interrupted Fulton, "If the offensive fails, _we're nuking them._ "

* * *

AN: Woo! Home stretch is starting up now!


	26. 26 10 18: Call of Honour Battlestein

This is what happens when you run out of time to write anything decent

* * *

 **26/10/18: Call of Honour Battlestein: Doom Ghost Halo Six 76**

Hello, everyone, I'm E350, and I have an amazing announcement for you all! Thanks to the excess funds I received from robbing Western Union, I have accumulated the money to create my _dream video game._ Which will be an FPS, because that sells.

Now, I have get all of this approved by a publishers, so I'm gonna run it past you guys first. I know this is going to be amazing, I've really put a lot of thought into creating a fun and authentic story for this game, so... yeah. Tell me what you think.

Oh yeah, one more thing - original game concept, do not steal.

* * *

 **Act I: The Opening Act**

 _Mission One - S. S. D. D. F. N. G. U. S. D. D._

So this is the training mission. You play as... oh darn, I don't have a name yet, um... _Danny_ , and he's joined the SAS as one does, and it's basically just telling you to play the game while in the background General Lee Untrustworthy narrates about the state of the world. Now, the General's you're CO, he's very much the Big Good here, but you'll be hanging around mostly with Captain Bonnibel Bubblegum, and... yeah, okay, I haven't come up with any names yet, so... just run with this.

 _Mission Two - Plot Expendable_

So, first mission, you're still SAS and you go into this ship... no, wait, that's been done... this _train_ , big moving train in Siberia, think a less-depressing Snowpiercer, and you have to sweep out all the (hang on, let me spin the FPS Enemy Wheel) Soviet Remnants and capture their Inevitable Nuclear Material. So you just run through with an MP5, it's pretty straight-forward, but then _bam_ , it falls off a bridge. Like, they blow up their own train on a bridge, for some reason, and you have to run back up the train and jump off the back onto a helicopter before it all falls down. And it's _awesome_.

 _Mission Three - Sneaky Sneaky_

Okay, so now we need a heavily scripted stealth mission, because This Is The Law, so you and Bubblegum have to go and get an informant out of a base, because the informant knows where the villains are making their nuclear bombs. It'd be _very_ immersive. Uh, you won't have much freedom, but-but _very immersive._ Immersive and atmospheric as all get out. Yeah, who needs gameplay? Anyway, you find the informant, um... Marceline, yeah, and then you fall over and trip seventeen alarms so you have to shoot your way out. And it's cool. it's really cool. (If I say that enough, will it start being cool?)

 _Mission Four - Apocalypse Now Quote_

Now we change our perspective to an American soldier who is part of this big invasion of... um... a bad country, and he's gonna be called... um... Timmy. And he's got a bunch of likeable squadmates, uh, let's call 'em Chester and AJ and Sanjay and, uh, Lieutenant Skinner, who's a bit hard but, you know, likable. And they go in, and they seize all of these objectives and it's like something out of the news, and it's really fun. Yeah.

 _Mission Five - This Is The Part Where The Twist Happens_

Okay, so, carrying on, all the Americans go around capturing stuff, when suddenly _BAM!_ Big ol' nuke. Big... big ol' nuke. And you just, you don't see this coming, and all of these likable people, they all dead! And you're dead! Everyone's dead. It'll be _really_ shocking, I mean, by gum, you've never seen anything like this in a game before. (Wait, wait, did I remember to connect these characters to the SAS plot? No? Well, I guess they'll never be mentioned again. Oh well.)

* * *

 **Act II: The Middle Bit**

 _Mission Six - Punishing Bomb Man_

Okay, so back with the SAS, you go and find the guy who detonated the atomic bomb, and you kill all his guards, and then you grill for information. I mean, you just straight up torture him. You torture him a lot. Because that's edgy and edgy is good, and it doesn't matter if it makes it look like we're implicitly supporting torture. Nah, we've got to make our characters _badass. KEIFER SUTHERLAND EAT YOUR HEART OUT, MY PEOPLE ARE COOLER THAN JACK BAUER. SO THERE._ Also you kill him. You just... you just kill him.

 _Mission Seven - But Then There Were Flashbacks_

So we have a flashback of Bubblegum hunting the real main villain in World War II (note to self: work out timeline later. I mean, it's not that much of a stretch to have the same character in WWII and the present, right?) And you get to play as her, and you're with this one captain who's really cool, and there's another stealthy bit with a lot of atmosphere, and then you snipe him. But, spoiler alert, he's gonna live! Anyway, it's a good excuse to throw some Nazi killing in there. I mean, just give the player a Lee-Enfield and a Tommy Gun and point 'em to the Nazis. Because honestly, nobody ever feels bad about killing Nazis in video games.

 _Mission Eight - The Mission You Inevitably Forget About_

So here you extract from Bomb Man's house and... um... I haven't really thought about this that much. I mean, it needs to happen, but, uh... yeah.

 _Mission Nine - Good Badguy Hunting_

So you go off with some other SAS fellow who's been hanging around, who I expect people will take a shining to, he'll be, uh... Jimmy. And you go off to take down the bad guy's headquarters on General Untrustworthy's orders. Any, bad fellow isn't there, but you have to dig in and defend the place while Jimmy gathers all of his files, and then you have to run! And General Untrustworthy saves you! And then he kills you, because he's actually the real villain! And now he's going to kill Bubblegum and Marceline! This is a Shocking and Unexpected Development.

* * *

 **Act III: The Big Ending Sequence**

 _Mission Ten - It's All Gone A Bit Pearshaped_

So now you're playing as Marcy, and you're being hunted down by shady American black ops soldiers, and you've gotta get out of there. Y-you gotta get outta this place, if it's the last thing you ever do. Anyway, meanwhile the old bad guy runs off, we'll deal with him in the sequel.

 _Mission Eleven - Gee Whiz, I Hope Activition Don't See This Story Plan_

Okay, so you've got another linear stealth mission, where you have to sneak past all the Yanks, but then they catch on, so you have a firefight in the General's HQ. Anyway, if any of you work for Infinity Ward, please... uh, don't tell them about this story plan. They will sue me. They will sue me very hard.

 _Mission Twelve - The End_

Okay, so now you've got to chase the General, and it's a big old action sequence. You're on a boat! Then you're in a car! Then you're in a train! Then you're on a bike! Then you're on the Late Show! Then you're on a helicopter! And eventually it all crashes and blows up, and then Bubblegum and the General get into a fist fight, and it looks like she's gonna lose, but then you get up and _you kill him_ , and then it all ends on a cliff-hanger.

And Bubblegum and Marceline kiss, because logically this is probably where their relationship is at this point. I mean, let's be honest.

Okay, so that's my plan! I haven't come up with much multiplayer stuff yet. I've got a few good weapon ideas; you know, the basis, M16, AK-47, MP-40, Brown Bess Musket, Jam Tin Launcher, Nuclear Bazooka, just normal stuff. And, uh, yeah! If you've got any feedback, hit me up, else I'll just send this to publishers and see who bites! Thanks guys.

* * *

 _Two weeks later..._

Update: Every major game publisher and developer has asked me to stop calling them.

* * *

AN: Honestly, Call of Duty 4 was an excellent game that might have damaged a whole genre forever.


	27. 27 10 18: The Eve of Battle

Now to set up the pieces so I can knock them all down!

* * *

 **27/10/18: The Eve of Battle**

"What the _hell_ is _that?_ "

Wilder grimaced at they approached the PURITY camp. The officer in the passenger seat stared agape at its most prominent landmark - the enormous, grey tank, the size of a three-storey house, with an enormous naval turret on the top. It bristled with guns, and behind the turret was a towering command bridge. It looked sublimely ridiculous, but Wilder had it on good authority that it was an effective engine of war.

"That's the Ratte II," he said.

" _The Ratte II?!_ " spluttered the officer, "You mean there's a _Mark One?!_ "

"There was on paper. Never built, though."

The humvee rolled into the camp, passing the more conventional though still monstrous armoured vehicles that surrounded the Ratte. The metallic stench of petrol filled the air, augmented by the myriad smells of cordite, oil and the body odours of heavily encumbered soldiers. It was hot and humid, and in the far distance, black clouds could be seen gently wafting towards them.

The humvee pulled up next to a gathering of officers, sweating profusely in their tight black uniforms. Wilder and the officer climbed out, and the PURITY men saluted crisply.

"Obergruppenführer Josef Stumpf," the lead officer barked - he was a short, pudgy man, with a scar across his cheek and a thin, crisp moustache, "Welcome to Kampfgruppe Adler."

"Secretary of State Wilder," replied Wilder, "That's my attaché, Colonel Wendell."

"You certainly don't make any bones about the Nazi connection," muttered Wendell.

He was craning his neck to look at the words stencilled into the side of the Ratte's hull - _Reinhard Heydrich_.

"Nationalist Socialist, Colonel Wendell," Stumpf corrected pointedly, " _Nazi_ is a pejorative term."

Wendell grunted and pursed his lips.

"If you have an objection, Colonel," said Wilder, "You're free to ask for a new posting."

"No sir," replied Wendell, "If it gets me a general's star, I'll swallow working with... _Nationalist Socialists_."

"Where's the General?" asked Wilder.

"General Rausseman is unfortunately delayed," replied Stumpf, "His personal doctor called him in for an examination. He will be with us shortly. In the mean time..."

He extended his arm towards the _Reinhard Heydrich_.

"...shall I show you to the bridge?"

* * *

"They're gathering."

Okoye nodded, her expression stony. She stood on a rise with the other members of Allied Command. Colonel Atkinson was looking across the plain with a pair of binoculars, and relating what he saw to the rest of the staff. T'Challa stood behind him, scratching his chin, and not far away, Agent Coulson paced back and forth. Towards the back of the group, Sapphire sat on a rock, gazing up at the blue sky.

"What forces do they have?" asked T'Challa.

"PURITY tanks," replied Atkinson, "Panther Mk. IIIs, plus infantry and light armoured vehicles. It seems about a brigade of US Army forces are moving up to support them - mostly armour, Abrams tanks, Bradley IFVs, Strykers - the latter likely carry infantry."

"And what do we have?"

"The Dora Milaje lost a quarter of their strength in the first battle, but is still ready to fight," replied Okoye, "The Border Tribe is still in bad shape after Killmonger," she just about spat the word, "But can plug any gaps in the line. M'Baku has promised the Jabari Tribe, but they have yet to arrive."

"My armoured force is just about ready," added Atkinson, "I've moved the tanks Japan sent to join my own, but in terms of armour, we're outnumbered six to one - and that was _before_ the Americans arrived."

"The best we can promise you," admitted Okoye, "Is that we can hold them until Shuri's project is ready."

"That's all we need," nodded T'Challa, "What about that heavy tank?"

"It's big and stupid," replied Coulson, "But it's got rudimentary shielding to protect it from air attack, and it's immune to most of our weapons. We'd have to send a party out to capture it."

"It's certainly a brave person who charges a super-heavy tank," muttered Atkinson.

"I will be commanding the mission personally," said Okoye.

"Like I said," nodded Atkinson, "A brave one."

"Sapphire," T'Challa said, turning to face the gem, "Do you have any input?"

"Ruby is up there," replied Sapphire.

She pointed to the sky.

"She's with Rausseman," she added, "But I... I can't see anything else. The future is... _uncertain_."

The other members of the staff exchanged glances, and the humid air, for just a moment, seemed to feel that much heavier.

* * *

"So you took a retired fighter plane and souped it up?" asked Tony Stark, "What, you couldn't build something new?"

"I honestly think it's impressive," the British officer next to him shrugged, "The GR.10 is the only fighter on Earth with energy weapons, repulsor engines, a fully-functional virtual intelligence for pilot support, vibranium missiles - oh, _and_ it can operate effectively in the air _and_ in space."

He smirked.

"We have a fully functional next-gen fighter at a fraction of the cost of building a new airframe," he said, "Beat that, Stark."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Stark! We need you over here."

They were gathered in a dark hanger, surrounded by the fighter planes that Stark had been discussing. Most of the gathered group - mainly those who had been on the helicarrier a year ago - were standing in a semicircle around Steve and Ford. Stark soon joined them.

"Okay," said Steve, "Here's what we know. Dr. Pines?"

"We have three basic threats at the present time," said Ford, "Galactus, Phoenix and PURITY. Alone, each of them are an existential threat to our world - together; well, let's just say the odds are against us."

He stepped aside, casually dropping a hologram emitter next to him. The image of a space station, long and tubular, appeared next to him.

"This," explained Ford, "Is Ziu Station - Ziu being the Germanic god of war and possibly the sky. What Rausseman intends to do with it, I do not know, but there's a lot of very strange energy signals emitting from the midsection here."

The hologram zoomed in on the middle of the station.

"The energy roughly corresponds with that which we pulled from the bullet used on Lapis," continued Ford, "It could be involved in the creation of some kind of anti-mutant pathogen, but it doesn't match the profiles of previous attempted 'cures.' Our hypothesis, then, is that's intended to effect _all_ non-human life. The best case scenario, then, is that they're making a weapon against us."

"And the worst?" asked Kamala nervously.

"They're making a _plague._ "

There was a long silence.

"What about Phoenix?" asked Jimmy.

"We can't predict her actions," replied Steve, "But we have an inside source about her plans. Lapis?"

Lapis stepped nervously up.

"She wants to burn it all," she said, "Everything connected to PURITY."

"I can get behind that," said Danny dryly.

"But it's not just Rausseman, or Fulton, or any of them!" continued Lapis, "It's... it's everyone in Fulton's government, in the military, everyone who _works_ for them, all the media that supports them, everyone who voted for Fulton, everyone... everyone who didn't stand up."

"But... _dad_ voted for Fulton," said Wendy, "I mean, he doesn't support them _now_ , but he really wanted that lumberjack tax cut and..."

"It wouldn't matter," replied Lapis, "She's burn him too."

Wendy swallowed, turning pale.

"Okay, but none of this matters if Galactus eats the Earth," said Amethyst, "So how're we doing for that?"

"We've been talking to our new friend from Russia about that," replied Ford, "Surfer?"

The Silver Surfer stepped out of the shadows - the blue glow of the hologram reflecting on his chrome skin was the first thing that could be seen, highlighting his cosmic form, before he stepped further and became visible.

"...okay, that was _really_ cool," said Miles.

"I have since returned to Galactus," said the Surfer, "I have asked him to spare this planet."

"And?" asked Jimmy.

"And he will not," replied the Surfer, "He has seen what PURITY is. What they could do, if they succeed. The probe your Order of the Thirteen sent him. He cannot allow them to carry out their plans. It would mean death to him and _everyone else_."

"So we'll have to defeat PURITY before he arrives," nodded Ford, "How long do we have? Because if we start now, we have some hope of..."

"Eight hours."

There was a long silence.

" _What?_ " demanded Ford.

"You have, at most, eight hours," said the Surfer, "But probably less."

"... _oh._ "

There was another long and uncomfortable silence.

"Y'know, I wish you'd told me this was gonna be my last day on Earth," said Peter dryly, "'Cause, y'know, I would've done a lot more today. I mean, I didn't even put on pants until eleven, so..."

"Alright, we're gonna have to step everything up," declared Steve, "Here's how it's gonna work. Tony, you're gonna stay down here and help defend Wakanda. Most of you will be with him. Ford and I will take a small team up to Ziu Station. We're gonna take down Rausseman, once and for all."

"You do realise you've given yourself a suicide mission, don't you Rogers?" grunted Tony.

"Yes," replied Steve, "I do."

* * *

The bridge was spartan - a square grey mass of monitors and desks, with a simple podium for the tank's commander. Two portraits at the back of the room - idealised images of Rausseman and the tank's namesake - provided a small amount of colour, a jarring contrast with the utilitarianism of the environment. In the centre was a small hologram emitter, which could be used for communication.

It was now activating, which was quite a relief for Wilder - listening to the tank's commander, Sturmbannführer Royce Prescott (a PURITY recruit from Exeter, of all places), was decidedly tiring.

Rausseman appeared before them, the first time Wilder had seen the man in weeks. He was wearing a new uniform, clean and crisp, although the red tint of the hologram prevented him from divining the colour. The PURITY officers saluted with a cry of 'Heil!' - Wilder accompanied this with a lazy salute of his own.

"General," he said, "Good to..."

"As of today, _General_ will no longer suffice," replied Rausseman, "I have been anointed Führer of the New Reich."

Wilder furrowed his brow.

"You've brought the timetable forward?"

"Our friend Galactus has," replied Rausseman, "As well as the Phoenix. Gotterdammerung must be initiated today."

"The President hasn't been informed of that," said Colonel Wendell.

"He doesn't need to be," sniffed Rausseman, "He's a puppet, nothing more. The illusion of power will keep him in line."

"He says if we lose today, he'll nuke Wakanda," said Wilder.

"He's welcome to," shrugged Rausseman, "After today, capturing that African hellhole will no longer matter. We'll have _much greater power_ in our hands. I..."

He was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit, and Wilder's frown deepened.

"...My Führer?"

"It's nothing," snapped Rausseman, "You will keep them distracted down here. I will carry out Gotterdammerung. They will..."

He snarled and clenched his fists in deliberate fashion.

" _They will all perish_ ," he snarled, "And we will begin to spread the Reich through the cosmos. Nothing will stand in our way, Wilder! Not force! Not will! Not even the ravages of time itself! We will prevail! Hail victory!"

" _Heil!_ " the officers shouted again.

"I will resume contact soon," finished Wilder, "Carry out my will, Wilder."

"Yes sir, My Führer."

The hologram flickered and disappeared.

" _My Führer?_ " repeated Wendell.

"It's called diplomacy, Wendell," shrugged Wilder.

"You heard him!" Prescott shouted at his bridge crew, "Ready the panzer! We move out in thirty minutes! Move! Move!"

"Did you notice," Stumpf whispered to Wilder, "How he _sounded?_ His voice, his... he seemed to be shaking, he's... he's clearly not well, Herr Wilder."

"Keep it to yourself, Stumpf," hissed Wilder, "That kind of talk could easily be taken as treason..."

* * *

"You know we're not coming back, Ford."

Ford nodded as he inspected his arsenal of energy weapons, trying to choose which one he should take. On the other side of the small armoury room, Steve was cleaning a pistol - his old gun from the Second World War.

"I choose not to think too hard about it, Captain," Ford replied.

Steve sighed as he looked over his pistol.

"I haven't used this thing since 1945," he mused, "I guess I never thought I'd have to use it again."

"Did you ever think you'd be fighting Nazis seventy years after that?" asked Ford.

"They were always around," shrugged Steve, "Under a whole bunch of different names; we had America First in Brooklyn back in the day. I guess we'll probably still be fighting them seventy years from now."

"Sounds a bit nihilist," muttered Ford.

"Well, they can't get anywhere if someone's fighting back, can they?" replied Steve, "I guess that's it, really; as long as one person's still fighting, they can't control everyone."

Ford nodded.

"So are we actually gonna ask for help with this?" he asked, "Because we can't ask people to come on a one-way trip with us. I mean, how can you order someone to die?"

"Well, you could always ask for volunteers."

Ford and Steve turned to the door. Steven and Connie stood there, holding hands - in their free hands, they held their respective shield and sword.

"We're coming," said Steven.

"Whether you want us to or not," added Connie.

"I don't know," replied Steve, "You two are kids, I..."

"Yeah, but we can fight," replied Connie.

"They have Ruby, Cap," said Steven, "I... I can't leave her, you know?"

"I..."

"Look, they'll probably just stow away if we say no, Steve," interrupted Ford, "At least this way, you can look after them."

Steve swallowed and nodded.

"Okay, I guess," he said, "I..."

"We're in too," declared Dipper, as he and Mabel appeared in the door.

"You weren't just gonna leave us behind, were you Grunkle Ford?" added Mabel, crossing her arms.

"Don't forget me," said Danny, phasing into view behind them, "You never know when you need a ghost."

"Or a genius!" added Jimmy, stepping out from behind his friend.

"Or an Inhuman," said Kamala, leaning in from behind the doorframe.

"Or whatever I provide to this group!" added Soos, somehow leaning in from the top of the doorframe.

"And I'm in too," said Lapis, "I... if we stop PURITY, maybe the Phoenix won't do her thing."

"And uh..."

Everyone turned. Tambry stood behind them, rubbing her arm.

"I... I want to help too," she added, "If that's okay, 'cause I know I'm not a hero like you guys but..."

Ford nodded.

"We'd be glad to have you," he said.

He took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said, "Get yourselves ready, say anything you think you need to say, at meet us back at the hanger in an hour. Regardless of what happens, this ends tonight..."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Kamala found herself outside on the grass, looking up at a sky that was now covered in black clouds. The wind had picked up, and the air was filled with precipitation.

Then, one by one, the raindrops began to fall. She closed her eyes and extended her arms, letting the rain wash over her. The feeling of finality began to set in.

Whatever happened today, it was definitely ending now.

* * *

AN: It always rains, after all.


	28. 28 10 18: Love and Mishaps

In which I viciously mock a ten-year-old Doctor Who episode.

* * *

 **28/10/18: Love and Mishaps**

"Yeah, so I've been invited to the dark alleyway behind that club what where they discuss aliens... no, no, I know it's totally a trap, I-I've brought the gun, and I've got Ames and Peri back in the car with the Fiddley Thi... yeah, yeah, I can call them that... yeah, anyway, so once this is sorted, I'll swing round, we'll get lunch. 'Kay, bye."

I hung up the phone and strolled merrily into the dark alleyway, humming a tune as I checked the magazine on the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun. Eventually, I reached a lightly lit courtyard and found my charge.

" _Hello._ "

A man in a dark coat and top hat, complete with Snidely Whiplash moustache, greeted me in the small courtyard. He carried a cane, and tipped his hat as I approached.

"My name," the man said, his voice oily, "Is Mr. Russell. _Davies Russell,_ to be precise."

There was a long silence.

"Okay, which episode is this a reference to?" I asked, "Because if it's the one I _think_ it is, I'm just gonna turn around and walk away..."

"But in reality," he said, raising his finger, "I am from the moon of _BLOM!_ "

"Oh god no," I said, face turning white.

"For I..."

He tore off his skin.

"...am the Abacusbaloff!" he thundered.

He was a big creature, green and slimy, with flaps of skin in places they should not be. I could see faces in his flesh, writhing and moaning. I realised with horror that my previous fear had been terribly, terribly correct.

"Oh _Jesus!_ " I exclaimed, "It's _Love and Monsters!_ "

"Yes!" growled the Abacusbaloff, "The _best episode of Doctor Who, BROUGHT TO LIIIIFE!_ "

I clutched my head, closing my eyes and breathing out in frustration.

" _Best?_ " I demanded, "It's... it's the _worst_ episode! I mean, it was _horrible!_ "

"You can't say that," snapped the Abacusbaloff, "The villain was designed by a nine-year-old."

"Yeah, and their design was amazing," I nodded, "It's the execution I disagree with."

"Can we stop being meta and get to the point?" demanded the Abacusbaloff.

"But I know the main story!" I replied, "You absorb people! That's your thing! You're a big, disturbing vacuum cleaner!"

"Oh, now that's hardly fair..."

I sighed.

"Okay," I asked, "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but who have you absorbed? Please tell me I don't know them..."

"Oh, but you know them all!"

"Damn."

He turned around, as if displaying an outfit, and I identified the faces on his body.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed, "Squidward!"

"Mr. Krabs made me do it!" moaned Squidward, "He thought he could sell stuff to the group! _I hate thiiiiis!_ "

"Zim!"

"Well, I didn't expect there to be another alien infiltrating the club," said Zim

"Pearl!"

"I'm definitely not letting Steven join this club," sighed Pearl.

"Hugh!"

"Honestly, I thought this was a club about ducks," said Hugh, "Well, more fool me!"

"Okay, quick question," I asked, "Did anybody actually join this group because they were interested in aliens?"

There was a long silence.

"No."

"Nope."

"Nuh-uh."

" _ZIM DID NOT!_ "

"Cool," I nodded, "So I assume you're going to want to absorb someone else to get some kind of knowledge, right?"

"Yes," replied the Abacusbaloff, "Specifically, one who chronicles events that happen in other universes."

"Well, that person's got something to worry about, I guess," I chuckled, "I mean, poor fellow, I wouldn't want to be them..."

I trailed off.

"Oh. You mean _me._ "

" _Yessss_ ," growled the Abacusbaloff, "I am going to _gobble you right up!_ "

I swallowed.

"I'm not comfortable with this," I said, "I'm not comfortable with this at all."

"Well, there's nothing you can do to stop me!" he snarled, "You must break my cane to defeat me, and you have no method of-"

 _Ratatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatat._

The Abacusbaloff looked down at the bullet holes in his chest.

"You... you _shot_ me!" he exclaimed, "I didn't expect you to-"

 _Ratatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatat._

"Alright, alright, I get it!" shouted the Abacusbaloff, " _And so I die!_ "

He instantly lost his form and melted into the ground, leaving nothing but a trace amount of slime on the concrete slabs.

"Well," I sighed, "That's done. But just to be safe..."

 _Ratatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatat._

I lowered the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun and mopped my brow.

"The evil is defeated," I said, "Too bad I couldn't save anyone though..."

"Don't worry, that's what _*urp!*_ I'm here for!"

A green portal opened, and Rick and Morty stepped out. Rick was carrying a thin metal object with a blue light on top.

"A Sonic Screwdriver?" I asked "Where'd you get that from?"

"Stole it," shrugged Rick, "Anyway, I gotta a real perfect way to end this plot. There's still... there's still enough of Squidward in that one slab, so with enough CCs of Doctor Who Science, I can just about..."

"Aw, Rick, do you really wanna do this?" asked Morty, "'Cause, y'know, it does seem like a fate worse than death..."

"Hey, you know what's really worse than death, Morty? Nothing," snapped Rick, "It's _death_. Anyway, just gimme a sec, and you got your own Squidward in a slab to take home and do whatever you want with."

He scanned the slab and pulled it from the ground. Slowly, Squidward face began to form on it. He looked from left to right, closed his eyes, and cried out mournfully.

" _Kiiiiilllll mmmmmeeeee!_ "

"Yep, that's what they all say," nodded Rick, "Anyway, here you go."

He held out the slab for me. For a few seconds, I stared blankly at it.

"Nope," I said, "Nope nope _nope nope NOPE._ "

I stormed out of the courtyard and back down the alley, repeated the same word with varying intensity. At last I reached the car and climbed into the driver's seat. Amethyst and Peridot, playing with the Fiddley Thing in the back seat, looked up.

"Didn't go well?" asked Amethyst.

"Please hand me the Fiddley Thing," I said flatly.

"O... kay," nodded Peridot, handing it over, "But I don't think..."

"Don't care," I replied, "This reality sucks. I'm out."

I turned the knob randomly and slammed my fist on the button.

 _Flash._

* * *

I awoke with a start.

The room was dark, save for the shimmering light of the TV. The muted sound of the _Doctor Who_ theme played from the speakers, and I could see the credits for _Love and Monsters_ rolling. I must've fallen asleep watching the episode - which makes sense, considering which one it was.

I sat up, running a hand through my hair. My eyes fell on the table - the Fiddley Thing was sitting there, and when I picked it up it was still warm. It must've been recently used - but that was just a dream, right?

I guessed it didn't matter, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV. Whatever had happened, it was all normal now.

"Lapis?"

I looked to my right. Pearl was curled up on the couch next to me, groggily pulling herself up. She was getting pretty used to the sleeping thing, I noted, as I pulled a blue arm around her shoulder.

"You alright, Pearl?" I asked.

"Yeah," replied Pearl, "Just... just fell asleep."

We sat there for a while. I thought about my dream - it was getting harder to remember, but there was something about that odd E3 guy in it - maybe? I couldn't really recall, but it didn't really matter anyway. There was one thing I still took away from it, though.

"Connie's right," I said.

"Mmh?" muttered Pearl.

I sat back and smiled.

"That episode _sucks_."

* * *

AN: Could be worse. Could be _Fear Her._


	29. 29 10 18: Ratte Hunt

There's not a final battle chapter this year.

Nope.

There's _two_ final battle chapters.

* * *

 **29/10/18: Ratte Hunt**

"Well," said Bucky, looking up at the black clouds and feeling the driving rain on his skin, "So much for air support."

"So much for _their_ air support," corrected the British officer, "The Harrier GR.10 can operate in any and all weather conditions without…"

"We _get it,_ it's a good plane," grunted Tony.

Bucky and Tony, the latter suited up in his latest armour, stood next to the front tank. The Allied armour had been positioned just in front of the ridge, dug in to await the enemy's advance. In the wind, they could hear the sound of PURITY and the US Army preparing to advance - shouted orders, the sound of engines, the metallic clicks of guns loading, and… was someone playing _Panzerlied?!_

Colonel Atkinson climbed out of the hatch of the tank. He visibly cringed as he heard the music on the wind.

"They're enthusiastic, I'll give them that," he muttered.

"More like they're a bunch of…" began Bucky.

"Officer on deck!" the British officer shouted.

Atkinson raised an eyebrow as Okoye stepped out of the fog towards them. He saluted briskly, and she returned it in the Wakandan fashion.

"Forgive Richardson," he said dryly, "He's a _Royal Marine._ "

If Okoye had any reaction to this, she pointedly didn't show it.

"Our flanking forces are nearly in position," she said, "You need to hold their tanks until they can strike. You will not, under any circumstances, retreat. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," nodded Bucky.

"Understood," said Atkinson.

"We're _dead_ ," said Tony.

* * *

Obergruppenführer Stumpf stood on the bridge, hands tucked behind his back. Next to him, Wilder glanced at his watch - presently, he nodded and turned to the officer.

"It's time," he said.

"Very good."

Stumpf leaned over, picking up the microphone.

"Soldiers of PURITY," he declared, "Today begins the final battle of this terrible war. All who fall on this field will be forever regarded as the great champions of the human race."

His lips thinned as his face contorted into a scowl.

"Our enemy is well equipped," he continued, "And supported by traitors. They consist of the very scum of the Earth, and must be treated as such. No soldier is to waste time with the taking of prisoners. And whoever brings me the head of the so-called _Black Panther_ will be richly rewarded. Remember who you are! You are PURITY - pure humans! You are the modern crusader knights, cleaning the filth from God's green Earth!"

He was screaming now, his spit spraying the microphone.

"Heil Rausseman! Heil Victory! All tanks, _advance!_ "

He slammed the microphone down and turned to Prescott.

"Forward!" he barked, "All speed!"

"Yes sir!"

With a defeating roar, the Ratte burst into life and slowly began to roll forward.

* * *

T'Challa stood on the crest of the ridge, watching as the PURITY tanks began to roll forward.

"If you've got a speech prepared," he said, "Now's the time."

"Just one," replied Okoye, "Don't die."

T'Challa nodded.

"I like it," he said, "It's to the point."

"Your majesty!" a soldier of the Dora Milaje ran up, saluting, "They need you on the flank."

"Good luck, General," said T'Challa, "I'll see you on the other side."

He ran off behind the soldier, leaving Okoye alone. She watched him go before turning back to the advancing tanks.

"Luck," she muttered, "Has nothing to do with it."

* * *

"Yes sir, understood sir!"

The soldier hung up the phone and turned to Agent Coulson.

"PURITY's advancing, we're nearly out of time," he reported.

Coulson nodded, turning to the other person in the room.

"How long do you..."

Shuri looked up from the panel she was working on.

"I'll get it done," she replied, "Just give me space."

"Ma'am, the tanks are estimated to be here in..."

" _Give me space,_ " repeated Shuri, "I've _got this._ "

The soldier swallowed and nodded, turning to Coulson.

"Sir, I really don't..."

"She's got this," said Coulson.

"Yes sir."

* * *

"Lead tank is in range, fire for effect!"

With a thunderous roar, Atkinson's tank fired. The shell travelled swiftly through the air, impacting with the front of the oncoming PURITY tank.

The Panther III, on paper, was a formidable beast - it was tall, with sloped armour, a big turret and a bigger 130mm gun. However, in PURITY's rush to get it into service, they'd neglected to apply any form of reactive armour, relying only on steel plate. As a result, the shell broke right through the frontal armour and hit the engine. With an ugly cloud of black smoke, the tank spluttered to a halt.

"That's a hit, it's knocked out!" shouted the gunner.

"New target, 2000 metres and closing!" Atkinson called back.

"Acquired!"

"Fire!"

High above the battlefield, Tony flew through the driving rain, firing tankbuster missiles at targets of opportunity. The surrounding infantry fired back with small arms, but the Iron Man suit easily dealt with the bullets.

"How many tanks do they have?" he asked himself, "I'm gonna run out of missiles..."

" _Boss, I'm seeing Shock Troopers,_ " FRIDAY advised.

Tony looked up. The black-clad Shock Troopers were advancing next to the front tanks - the moment they saw Tony, they opened up with their heat rays. Tony's shielding seemed to be dealing with them, but he realised from the heat building in his suit that it wouldn't be a permanent solution.

"Need some backup here!" he called.

" _On it!_ "

Falcon burst out of the fog, firing his submachine guns at the lead Shock Troopers. He riddled the heat tanks on their backs, and one by one they exploded, clearing the sky of any further heat rays.

"Thanks," said Tony.

" _Guess Tony Stark owes me one, huh?_ " replied Sam.

"No, no, I _never_ said that, I..."

Sam shot Tony a thumbs up as he disappeared into the fog once more.

Back down below, the tanks continued to fire on the advancing PURITY force. Next to Atkinson's tank, Peridot had commandeered her own vehicle, and was hanging out the hatch shouting orders to whoever would listen.

"Keep firing!" she shouted, "Teach them not to mess with the _Mighty Peridot!_ "

"You having fun up there?" the gunner asked.

"Quiet! Just keep firing! I..."

She trailed off as an enormous mass emerged from the fog.

" _Well, there's the Ratte,_ " Atkinson grunted over the radio.

" _Jesus, how are we supposed to pen that thing?_ " another commander asked.

" _We're not, Willingham, we're just delaying it,_ " replied Atkinson.

"Gun's moving, ma'am!" the gunner called, "Looks like it... it's aiming at us!"

" _Pull back, pull back!_ " shouted Atkinson.

"You heard the clod!" bellowed Peridot, " _Pull ba_ -"

She never finished her sentence. The twin main guns of the Ratte burst into life, and suddenly her whole world seemed to explode...

* * *

Wendy watched in numb shock as the Ratte shells exploded, blasting a whole section of the ridge away. A turret, still blazing, flew high into the air. In one fell swoop, it had destroyed at least half-a-dozen tanks.

"The Ratte's in play," grunted Bucky.

"Peridot's with those tanks!" exclaimed Amethyst, "What do we do?"

"Wait," replied T'Challa, "Just a few more minutes..."

"But she needs our help!" shouted Amethyst, "We can't leave her!"

"We go now, we throw away the battle plan," snapped Bucky.

"Amethyst, we have to wait for the right moment," said Pearl, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Amethyst growled in frustration, throwing Pearl's hand off.

" _Screw_ your right moment!" she thundered, "I'm gonna find her!"

She broke out of the shrubbery, racing towards the tanks.

"Amethyst, no!" exclaimed Pearl.

* * *

Tony winced as the Ratte fired again and another eight tanks disappeared in an enormous fireball.

"Okay, sitrep, who's not dead?" he asked.

" _This is - *cough!* - this is Atkinson!_ " Atkinson replied, " _I've pulled back but I've lost most of my command! Willingham is KIA, his tank's burning. Unsure of the others. We cannot, I repeat, we cannot hold the ridge._ "

"Anyone else?" said Tony.

" _This is Vision. There are too many PURITY and American tanks to deal with. I'm thinning them out but mathematically speaking..._ "

" _They're gonna get through, yeah,_ " interrupted Sam, " _Where the heck is our flank?_ "

" _To hell with the flanking force, where the hell is our infantry? We have no support! We - AARGH!_ "

" _Baker! Baker, report! Damn it!_ "

Tony winced. Things did not look good.

* * *

Amethyst ran through the cratered ruins, weaving through burning tanks and twisted steel, calling out her friend's name.

"Peridot? _Peridot?!_ "

Eventually she reached a burning tank, a flickering form lying next the treads. It was Peridot, an enormous crack running across her gem. She looked disoriented, and Amethyst's form ran cold as she approached.

"Peridot!"

Peridot looked up.

"Am-Amethyst?" she muttered, her voice skipping like a broken record player.

"It's okay, I'm here, I'm here," said Amethyst, kneeling down next to her, "Nothing's gonna happen to you."

"I'm so-I'm sorry I couldn't..." her voice briefly collapsed into static, "...any use."

"You did great, Peri, don't worry," replied Amethyst, "I'm gonna get you outta here, we'll take you to the fountain, it's all gonna be fine..."

"I just want to say I- say I- say I- say I-"

She cringed, shaking her head.

"Don't strain yourself," urged Amethyst, "Just..."

"Well, well, well..."

Amethyst looked up as a squad of PURITY troopers marched up, the leader smirking sadistically.

"Looks like we got a live one here, boys," he said, casually aiming his rifle.

Amethyst narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

"Any last words, freaks?" sneered the soldier.

"Yeah," replied Amethyst, "Stay the hell away from my Peridot."

She drew her whip and charged.

* * *

"Don't wanna question the plan here," said Miles, watching the Ratte advance, "But if we don't go soon, there's not gonna be a Wakanda left to save."

T'Challa looked around, a deep frown on his face.

"He should be here by now," he muttered, "Has he..."

"T'Challa!"

With a low rumble, a force of soldiers emerged from the growth, an enormous man at their head. T'Challa beamed as he recognised him.

"M'Baku," he said, "I had wondered if you'd decided to sit this out."

"This rain slowed us down," replied M'Baku, "But did you actually think I'd miss the chance to crack some Nazi skulls? _Ha!_ "

He turned to his men.

"Wakanda forever!" he shouted, " _Charge!_ "

They bolted into the field, bellowing a war cry and leaving T'Challa behind.

"They were supposed to wait for my order," muttered T'Challa.

He shrugged.

"Wakanda forever!" he called, "Forward!"

* * *

Prescott was in his element, relishing in his command of the Ratte. To Wilder, he looked like a child playing with a toy dump truck, delighting in crushing imaginary things - except in his case, he was destroying very real things and very real people.

"Wilder!" he laughed, "If you ever get out of politics, you ought to become a tank commander! This is the _life!_ I mean..."

" _Sturmbannführer!_ " one of his officers screamed in sudden panic.

"Y-yes?" asked Prescott, somewhat disarmed by the outburst.

" _LOOOOOK!_ "

Prescott looked out the right window and immediately paled.

" _OH GOD! NO NO NO NO NO! NOOOO!_ "

Wilder and Stumpf immediately raced to the side to see what they were looking at. A stream of Jabari warriors had broken through the flank, sweeping aside the infantry defending the Ratte. Behind them, they could see T'Challa himself leading a variety of other heroes towards their tank.

"Why did you not see this?!" demanded Stumpf, "Where did they come from?"

"Reverse the tank!" bellowed Prescott, " _Reverse the tank!_ "

"Too late!" screamed Colonel Wendell, "Get down!"

* * *

"Spider-Men!" shouted T'Challa, "Do your thing!"

Peter and Miles ran out in front, slinging a web onto the side of the Ratte. T'Challa and Wendy took hold of Miles, while M'Baku and Pearl grabbed Peter. Swiftly, they swung upwards, aiming for the windows on the side of the Ratte.

"Yeesh, you're heavy!" grunted Peter.

M'Baku growled at him and he shut up.

With a crash, they flew into the bridge. Pearl recovered instantly, firing beams from her spear at the surrounding crew before they could draw their pistols. Wendy charged at Wilder, pinning against the wall, the handle of her axe against his neck. Behind her, M'Baku knocked out both Stumpf and Prescott with a single punch, while T'Challa advanced on Colonel Wendell.

"I swear, I'm just his ADC, I'm not involved!" begged Wendell, "I don't even _like_ Nazis! "My-my grandpa was in the airborne in World War II, I-I-I didn't even..."

T'Challa raised a clawed fist, and Wendell fell to his knees, half sobbing.

"...I was _just following orders!_ "

T'Challa narrowed his eyes.

"How many people have died," he asked, "How many lives have been ruined, because men like you were _just. Following. Orders?_ "

He turned around, leaving the Colonel practically catatonic on the floor.

"Miles?" he asked.

Miles was hunched over a console, shaking his head.

"Who'd they hire to secure this, Norton Antivirus?" he asked, "I mean, this is _terrible._ "

He pressed a button.

"Shields are down," he said, "We're done."

"Good!" said M'Baku, "Now, back into the fighting!"

He leapt out the window, rolled on landing and barrelled towards a very unpleasantly surprised group of soldiers.

"Interesting guy," nodded Wendy, "I like him."

T'Challa shrugged.

"He grows on you."

* * *

" _Ratte shields are down. I say again, Ratte shields are down. Bring down the sky."_

"Copy that, we're inbound."

* * *

Wilder pulled himself off the floor, his head still swimming from Wendy's parting punch. The bridge was in disarray - he could see Colonel Wendell leaping out the window, while Stumpf screamed at everyone to remain at their posts.

He stood up, just in time to see the flight of Harriers roaring towards them, releasing their payloads of guided missiles.

He had just enough time to utter a single word.

" _Shit._ "

* * *

Okoye allowed herself a small grin as she watched the Ratte explode in a giant, red fireball. The turret flew dramatically in the air, framed by a stunning orange-yellow light that stained the fog behind them. Fragments rained down on the surrounding tanks, some large enough to crush them. The beast had been beheaded.

She turned to the Dora Milaje officer behind her.

"Send the infantry forward," she ordered, "We decide this battle now."

"Yes, General!" the officer replied.

"General!"

A SHIELD agent ran frantically out of the fog.

"Shuri's ready!" he explained, "They're launching now!"

* * *

"All engines are online! We launch on your order!"

Shuri grinned.

"Go ahead," she said.

The room shook, and suddenly the windows were filled with daylight. Shuri crossed her arms as she looked around the bridge, nodding in satisfaction. It had been a long job, but finally it was ready.

She chuckled. It certainly beat SHIELD's original, in her humble opinion.

After all, that one couldn't go to space, could it?

* * *

Tony watched as the behemoth lifted up from the ground, rain dramatically buffeting the hull. He could see the flight decks, the enormous engines and the bold number - 64 - painted on the side.

" _You think Fury would've like that?_ " he heard Sam ask.

He shrugged.

"I don't Fury liked anything," he replied.

" _It is certainly... a beautiful sight_ ," said Vision.

High above Wakanda, the new, Wakandan-pattern helicarrier roared ever upwards, bound for the final battle with General Rausseman.

* * *

AN: *Avengers theme blares*

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Amethyst and Peridot - we'll be back to them...


	30. 30 10 18: A Perfectly Logical Explanatio

Just a quick one today, because I fell asleep. Sorry.

* * *

 **30/10/18: A Perfectly Logical Explanation**

 _Pacifica Northwest is now active._

Mabel?

Oh, hey Paz! How's life?

Fine, I guess.

One quick question.

Shoot.

Why is the Mudflaps Factory on fire?

Well, that's a _really_ long story.

But there's a perfectly logical explanation. :)

Uh-huh.

And that is...

...

Well...

* * *

 _Why The Mudflaps Factory Is On Fire_

 _By Mabel Pines_

 _Edited by Stan Pines_

So, me and Waddles were just hangin' around the Shack, just like normal, and then there was this big flash of light, just like normal, and Amethyst and Peridot appeared in the room. You know, normal everyday stuff.

And Amethyst is all like; "Hey Mabel, we accidentally made a killer robot with the Fiddley Thing and it's running around the woods, and we need your help to catch it."

And I'm just like; " _Whaaaaaaaaaaat?_ "

So I grab my grappling hook, and before I leave, I look Waddles right in the eye and say, "The Shack is in your hands now, Waddles. Make me proud."

 _Ed. note - well, this probably explains the three break-ins that happened today._

So it's just the three of us, wandering through the woods, and eventually, we find a gnome who's been hung up by his collar on a tree. And it turns out it's _Jeff!_ I haven't seen him in ages. Spoiler alert; he's still a jerk.

And he says, "Help! It ate half the gnomes and stole my stamp collection!"

"You have a stamp collection?" Amethyst asks.

"Hey, I can have character depth too!"

And Peridot's all like; "Nrrr! Clods! Hurry up and find the robot!"

And Jeff's like; "He went that-a-way!"

So we go that-a-way, which is on a sign. Very convenient.

 _Ed. note - Yeah, I think I put that there. Marks where I hide my contra... I mean_ perfectly legal _loot. Yes. That'll do._

So eventually we come out at that petting zoo owned by that farmer, you know, the one that's like 'Ahm only afraid o' witches and dust bowls!' That guy. Doesn't wear clothes under his robes. He's creepy. Anyway, we're cutting across his farm, and then we see the robot, and I'm all like 'Holy Moses! It's a Garnet-bot!"

And Amethyst says; "Yeah, don't tell Garnet."

And Peri's like; "Neh heh heh! We gotta catch it! _Cloooooods!_ "

 _Ed. note - This is an uncanny impression of Peridot._

So I run up, and I'm all like; "Stop there, fiend!" And the robot turns around and is like; "Beep boop, _whaaaaaaaaaat?!_ "

Okay, actually it just starts shooting lasers at us, and then it runs away.

So we're chasing it down the river towards the factory, and it runs past Preston, and Amethyst runs over Preston, and he's like "Nooooo, don't trample me, I'm too rich and upper-class!" and I'm like "That's what you get for being a big pile of farts, you jerk!"

 _Ed. note - That's my girl._

We get to the factory, and the robot starts blowing up all the mudflaps. I don't know why. Guess it didn't like mudflaps. So we're like, how do we stop this thing?

And then Amethyst smiles, and she's all like; " _Fireworks._ "

So she grabs some fireworks that I guess were just hanging around ( _Ed. note - My bad. I stash them there and sell them on the side._ ) and we tie them all together and aim them right at the robot.

And Peridot's like; "Face our death machine, robot clod! Nyehehehehe!"

And I'm like; " _I AM THE GODDESS OF DESTRUCTION!_ "

And we shoot the robot, and it's like - _BOOM!_ And it blows up, and the mudflaps all blow up, and gnomes are flying everywhere, and everything's _great_ \- until we realise everything's on fire, and then it's _not_ great. Then we have to run away.

So yeah, logicial explanation - we blew the factory up to stop a gnome-eating killer robot created by a weird deus-ex-machina device. You know, normal stuff.

* * *

And that's what happened!

I... I don't know what I expected to hear, but that wasn't it.

Yeah, that's just my life. Pretty cool, right?

One question.

What is it?

Can you come down to the County Jail with some bail money?

We're kind of in jail.

Because we burnt down the Mudflap Factory.

*eyeroll emoji*

I'm coming, I'm coming...

* * *

AN: One more to go!


	31. 31 10 18: Gotterdammerung

Surprise! Bet you didn't expect this this early! It's because I've been up since midnight writing it, but still!

I hope you like 21 pages of reading!

* * *

 **31/10/18: Gotterdammerung**

"Mein Führer! Galactus is one hour from the Earth and closing fast, and we have reports that both the Phoenix and Captain America are inbound. What are your orders?"

"Let them come."

* * *

"All hands, action stations! All hands, action stations."

The helicarrier hangar was abuzz with activity, almost too much for Ford to navigate. He pushed past pilots and soldiers running to and fro to get to his assigned Quinjet, frowning at the close confines. He'd never liked crowds.

Eventually, he reached the ramp of the Quinjet. The rest of the team were already preparing next to it; checking weapons, gathering supplies, stretching and preparing their bodies for the task ahead. Dipper was pacing anxiously at the end of the ramp - a nervous tic of his, Ford had long silence noticed. He walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're going to be alright, Dipper," he said, "Rausseman can't stand against us."

"You sure about that?" asked Dipper.

"I have full confidence in everyone here," replied Ford, "Especially you."

Dipper took a deep breath and nodded, smiling at his Great Uncle.

"Well, there's no-one else I'd rather do this with," he said.

"Same here," nodded Ford.

"That's not true and you know it," grunted Dipper.

Ford pursed his lips.

"I would like Stanley here, yes," he replied, "But you and Mabel are just as important to me. Never forget that, Mason."

"Sir!"

Ford turned. A SHIELD agent stood behind him, sweating from the long run down from the bridge.

"We're in range," he said, "Coulson says to depart as soon as you're ready."

Ford glanced to Steve, who was already sitting in the back of the Quinjet. He looked up and nodded.

"Alright," said Ford, "We're going now."

* * *

"All wings are ready and requesting permission to take off," one of the bridge officers announced.

Coulson looked out over the void of space, the shape of Ziu Station in the distance. He crossed his arms and nodded - it was time to get started.

"Commander Tennant," he ordered, "Tell them the mission is go."

"Understood, sir," the officer replied, "All wings, scramble! All wings, scramble!"

In the distance, Coulson could see wings of PURITY fighters - flat, angular flying wings with small cockpits and no visible tail - swarming around next to the Station. He heard Shuri sniff.

" _Flying wings_ ," she muttered, "Do they still think those are advanced?"

"Well, so do the US Air Force," Coulson shrugged.

Shuri snorted.

"Cute," she replied.

* * *

The hangar doors under the flight deck (although in space, it could not serve as such for a variety of reasons) of the helicarrier slowly opened, and one by one, the Harriers inside hovered out of their bays like rising helicopters. They gathered above the ship, slowly moving into formation - then, like a sudden bolt of lightning, they burst forward, shooting towards Ziu Station.

" _Broadsword calling all wings - engage at will. Open a door for the Captain._ "

The fighters roared forwards, swooping down on the small wings of PURITY fighters. Before long, they were engaged in dozens of dogfights, keeping the fighters busy as behind them, a single Quinjet roared towards the Station.

Unseen by any of the combatants, streams of red fire burst up from the Earth, bound for the bottom of the station.

* * *

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, listen up!"

At the front of the Quinjet, a squad of commandos were getting ready, forming something of a human shield in front of Steve's team. The sergeant was already shouting orders as the craft rocked and shuddered, avoiding fighters and missiles.

"Our job is to keep PURITY off of the team," he barked, "Until they deal with General Rausseman! The more guns they have facing us, the less they have facing the Captain. None of us leave that accursed station until PURITY is good and broken? Sound good?"

"Yes, sergeant!" the commandos shouted back.

"Check weapons! It's nearly time!"

Jimmy and Danny sat in the back, sitting in silence.

"Hey, Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever wonder how we end up in these sorts of situations?" asked Danny.

Jimmy shrugged.

"Nah," he replied, "Probably better not to think about it."

Danny nodded.

"Did you call Spongebob?" he asked.

"Yeah," replied Jimmy, "He wanted to come, but I told him he needed to be around to keep the group going if we all... well, you know?"

"Yeah."

The Quinjet shook, and Danny swallowed.

"Dani still at the Treedome?"

"Yeah," nodded Jimmy, "She is."

"Good," said Danny.

" _We're landing in Hangar Bay Six,_ " the pilot called over the intercom, " _They're already got defences - this is gonna be rough!_ "

"So," murmured Jimmy, biting his lip, "Are we gonna die?"

There was a long silence. Then they both snorted.

" _Nah._ "

* * *

"Phoenix! We have contact with the Phoenix! Help us!"

" _Draw her to the Chamber._ "

"But we'll be slaughtered!"

" _You give your lives for the Reich. It will honour you. Rausseman out._ "

The PURITY sergeant swallowed as his comms went dead. He looked up - the Phoenix was walking almost dismissively down the corridor, burning every man who stood in her way.

"What do we do? What do we do?" somebody screamed.

"You heard him, draw her to the Chamber!" shouted the sergeant, " _Fall back towards the Chamber!_ "

He turned around, just in time to see the wall of flame sweeping towards him.

* * *

The ramp lowered.

Instantly the air was filled with bullets, and Steve winced as they impacted his shield. He shrugged it off, rushing forward as the commandos advanced behind him, firing back at the squads of PURITY soldiers in the hangar. Before long, the metal room was a scene of utter cacophony, a tangled mess of battle.

Really, Steve thought, it wasn't so dissimilar to the war.

Ford bolted down the ramp, the rest of the team close behind. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a large pistol.

"I've armed this with those anti-mutant charges from the White House!" he shouted, "If you run into Phoenix' minions, use it!"

"It's a _gun_ ," reminded Kamala, "Won't it _kill_ them?"

"I've attached the charge to a rubber bullet," replied Ford, "It should go off on impact without piercing the skin. It'll _hurt_ , but it won't kill."

He handed the gun to Dipper.

"Whoa, whoa, he's a kid!" exclaimed Steve.

"There's no live rounds in it, Cap," replied Ford, "Besides, I trust him."

He smiled and ruffled Dipper's hair. Dipper didn't reply, staring in slight horror at the gun in his hand.

"But... I don't know if..."

"Alright, two teams!" declared Ford, "We'll take Rausseman from both sides."

"I'll take left," said Steve.

"I'll take right," nodded Ford, "Soos, Tambry, Danny, Jimmy, Sapphire - you're with me."

"The rest of you with me," said Steve, "Let's move."

* * *

"Galactus is twenty minutes out, he... _mein gott._ "

The PURITY officer gazed out the observation window as the sun slowly vanished, eclipsed by a gigantic head. The room fell dark, save for the electric lights, and the officer felt himself quake.

Behind him, he heard Rausseman.

" _Beautiful_."

* * *

Amethyst swung the soldier into the side of the ruined tank. She was just turning to deal with another, when the world around suddenly turned dark.

Slowly, she looked up. She could just about see, despite the swirling rain and cloud above, the silhouette of a truly titanic being, large enough to dwarf the Earth itself. Her eyes widened - she stepped back, grabbing Peridot and barrelling into the turret of an abandoned tank.

"What is- what is- what is..." Peridot gritted her teeth. "What is that?"

"The end of the world," replied Amethyst hollowly.

* * *

Fulton looked out the window of his office at Camp David in utter disbelief. He was reduced to mutely shaking his head, occasionally opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

A booming voice filled the air.

" **I AM GALACTUS, AND I HUNGER.** "

* * *

"Well, that's no good," said Commander Tennant, giving what might have been the understatement of the century.

"Surfer?" asked Coulson.

The Silver Surfer now stood on the bridge - he shook his head at Coulson's words.

"He will not turn back until PURITY is destroyed," he said simply.

Coulson frowned.

"Well, I guess we'd better hurry it up," he said.

* * *

The worst thing about the station corridors was that they were all alike - grey, dark and decorated with the occasional piece of Nazi paraphernalia. (Kamala had taken to 'accidentally' destroying them as she passed.) Still, they seemed to be making process by following the signs to the Command Centre, and they were making short work of any PURITY sentry who stood in their way.

That is, until they encountered the Ubersoldaten.

Four of the lumbering figures advanced down the hall towards them, firing their massive machine guns as they did. The group huddled behind a corner, Steve deflecting their fire with his shield - they needed to get past them, and fast.

"Any ideas?" asked Steve.

"Yeah," nodded Connie, "You ready, Steven?"

"Ready," replied Steven.

They joined hands and instantly disappeared in a flash of light. A moment later, Stevonnie stood there, sword and shield drawn.

"Follow me!" they shouted.

They charged forward, holding their shield up to deflect the Ubersoldaten fire. They then jumped into the air, roundhouse kicking the first and slamming the flat of their sword into the second. On landing, they threw out their sword - it slammed into the third soldier, bounced off his head, slammed into the fourth, and then bounced back to Stevonnie.

"It's clear!" they called, "Let's move!"

"Why couldn't you have done that?" asked Dipper as they ran after them.

"I don't have a sword," shrugged Steve.

"You should get one," suggested Mabel, "It can be an _America Sword._ "

"Mabel, Captain America doesn't need a..."

"Sure, I'll take that down," nodded Steve.

* * *

The Phoenix entered the Chamber.

It was, in the end, somewhat disappointing. There was no biolab, no secret weapon being developed. It was just a room filled with electrical coils and vats of blue - it seemed they were synthesising the anti-mutant substance, but not using it. _Why?_ she wondered.

Just as she finished burning away the last PURITY defenders, there was a sudden alarm, and every door slammed shut.

" _Ah, Fraulein Grey! How nice of you to come!_ "

"Rausseman," snarled the Phoenix, "You're confident, for a man who's about to die?"

Rausseman laughed.

" _I'm about to die, am I?_ "

"Once I leave this chamber, I am coming for..."

" _But you are not leaving this chamber_ ," Rausseman sneered, " _This is where you_ die _, Jean Grey - and where I take your power for my own._ "

"You don't have the ability to do that," snapped the Phoenix, "You're dealing with a force..."

" _Petrov. Do you remember him?_ "

Rausseman chuckled.

" _He worked for the US Government - for Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, eventually Reagan. At the same time he experimented on you, PURITY was infiltrating the system._ "

"That doesn't mean..."

" _J. Edgar Hoover. Richard Helms. Alexander Haig. Dozens of others, all deeply embedded within the US Government. All listening in to every report given on 'the Jean Grey matter.' Every file handed back to PURITY. We've been listening to everything for a very long time._ "

"Get to the point!" snapped the Phoenix.

" _We know what you are,_ " replied Rausseman, " _And have been influencing your every move. You did all we asked - you gave us a bogeyman for the public to fear in Washington. You divided our opposition. And now, you walked right into my trap._ "

"You don't have the technology to destroy me," growled the Phoenix.

" _Destroy you? Heaven forbid. We, Jean Grey, are going to_ harness _you. And with your power absorbed, we shall move onto the biggest target of them all._ "

Around her, the coils began to activate.

" _Goodbye, Jean, and thank you._ "

The room filled with a blinding blue light.

* * *

The station suddenly shook, and the lights flickered.

"What the heck was that?" demanded Tambry.

"Nothing good," sighed Ford, "Alright, straight ahead, we're gonna need..."

"No."

Sapphire was looking towards a dimly lit door.

"I need to go there," she said.

"There? Why would you need to..." began Ford.

"That's where Ruby is, isn't it?" asked Danny.

Sapphire nodded.

"Alright," said Jimmy, preparing his blaster, "Sapphire, Danny, let's grab Ruby. We'll catch you guys up!"

"Very well," nodded Ford, "Soos, Tambry, with me."

They split up, each group going its own way.

* * *

"Just a little further," said Steve, "We're nearly..."

He cursed and they ground to a halt.

Stan stood in the corridor, flames running down his arms. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowed.

"I can't let you do this," he said, "The only way we defeat PURITY is by letting Phoenix burn it away."

"You mean burn innocent people?" snapped Steve.

"There are no innocents," snarled Stan.

"Cap," declared Mabel, "We'll handle this, you keep going."

"You will?" said Steve sceptically.

"We will?" gulped Dipper.

"Trust me," nodded Mabel, "He's _our_ Grunkle."

Steve nodded, and he, Kamala and Tambry ran back down the corridor to find another route.

"Kids, you have to understand," said Stan, "If you're not with us..."

"Grunkle Stan, you have to remember who you are!" exclaimed Mabel, "You wouldn't want to do this! Partially because you don't care that much about politics, but mostly because you love us! Remember that, Stan! Please!"

Stan stared at his niece and nephew. His mind ran with memories - memoires of the good times they'd shared, the highs and lows, the zombies and monsters and Bill. A voice screamed in the back of his head - _they're against us, burn them, burn them_ \- but his heart quaked at the very thought. Could he do this? Could he harm his beloved niece and-

"DIPPER! SHOOT HIM!"

 _BANG._

Stan fell on his back, crying out in pain as he clutched his chest.

"Oh my god, I shot Grunkle Stan!" exclaimed Dipper.

"Stan!" shouted Mabel, running to his side, "Are you okay? Are you still evil?"

Stan shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

"Last time I had voice that loud in my head," he grunted, "Was when they kept playing that _I'm Blue_ song over and over again."

"Stan, you're okay!" exclaimed Mabel, pulling her Grunkle into a hug.

"Yeah, and if I can get through the rest of the day without being shot again," muttered Stan, "You know, I'd like that..."

* * *

"...there is little scientific potential left in the Ruby, and as a result, it is now time to dispose of it."

The PURITY scientist drew his pistol, pointing it directly at the small red gem on Ruby's hand. The restrained gem growled and spat at him, but he ignored her, preparing to issue the coup de grace.

"Good night, freak," he muttered.

The door flew open.

"Contact! Contact!" the first of his two guards was suddenly blown against the wall by a blast of wind - before the second could react, a ray of green ectoplasm slammed into his face, knocking him back into an exposed pipe. His head slammed into the metal surface and he was instantly knocked out.

The scientist tried to turn around, but suddenly found his feet encased in ice. A sharp piece of the frozen water twisted in the air, slowly advancing on his throat - he saw the small, blue woman walk calmly into the room.

"This is your first, last and only warning," Sapphire said, her voice somehow colder than the ice against the scientist's skin, "If you value your continued existence, then you will _never. Ever. Come near my wife again._ Do you understand?"

The scientist nodded frantically.

"Good."

The ice disappeared and he fell to his knees.

"Now," said Sapphire, " _Get out._ "

The scientist bolted, and Sapphire stepped up to her partner. Ruby's eyes watered as Sapphire released her restraints one by one.

"S-Sapphire," she said, "They... you don't know what they're gonna do, Sapphy... I..."

"It's okay," replied Sapphire, her own voice wavering, "I'm here now. _I'm here_."

She knelt down and they kissed.

"Wait, what are they gonna do?" asked Danny.

Ruby swallowed as Sapphire pulled back from the kiss.

"They're drawing Galactus in," she said, "S-so they can... so Rausseman can..."

She clenched her fists, getting a hold of herself.

"They're going use his power to destroy every non human lifeform."

"On Earth?" gasped Jimmy.

"No - _in the universe._ "

There was a long, horrified silence.

"That's what the chamber is," realised Danny, "That energy point on the ship that Ford pointed out. It's not a disease, it's..."

"Genocide," said Jimmy, "On a cosmic scale. _At least._ "

"Ruby, you've dealt with this pain long enough," said Sapphire, taking her lover's hand, "Let me share the burden."

Ruby smiled.

"I've missed this so much," she said as she began to glow.

Sapphire smiled back.

"So have I."

* * *

This was it.

Slowly, Steve walked through the door, Kamala, Stevonnie and Lapis behind him. His pistol was drawn. He found himself on a balcony in a circular room, surrounded by blast-proof windows - to his left, he could see the approaching figure of Galactus. In the middle of room was Rausseman, his back turned. He wore a new, tan uniform and hat - Steve grimaced in disgust.

"Captain Rogers," declared Rausseman, "How pleasant to make your acquaintance."

"That Hitler-chic is kinda tacky, Rausseman," said Kamala.

"I have no concern about the opinions that _bleating children_ form about my uniform," sneered Rausseman, "I have interest in far greater things."

He turned around, and Steve's eyes widened.

Rausseman was clearly sick - his skin was a deathly grey, and he was slightly hunched over. His hand shook in place, and his features were gaunt and wrinkled. Steve could see traces of red under his nose. He was not the formidable figure he had been a year ago.

"Are you surprised, Captain?" asked Rausseman, "To see what the rigours of duty have done to me. My doctors inform me that my enhanced nervous system is slowly breaking down, and that I am in the early stages of terminal bowel cancer."

He shook his head.

"To live long would be languish, trapped in a decaying body, until the tumours finally deliver the killing blow," he said, "I have no intention of going out in that fashion. I..."

He coughed violently, and Steve could see a spray of blood.

"...no," continued Rausseman, "Either I will win totally today or die on the battlefield, a soldier's death. Either way, I am afraid I cannot offer you the battle you might have expected."

" _Five minutes until Galactus makes contact._ "

Rausseman nodded at the automated message.

"There's a _rush_ to knowing that you're near the end, isn't there?" he said.

On the other side of the room, another door burst open. Ford, Soos, Garnet, Jimmy, Danny and Tambry burst out - the former did a double take as he saw his foe.

"Yeesh, this year has _not_ been kind to you," he said.

"In any case," sneered Rausseman, "You are too late. I have absorbed the power of the Phoenix force. With that, I shall use this station to take control of Galactus, providing me with control of the universal balance of power, and..."

"Rausseman."

Rausseman frowned as Steve cut him off.

"What?" he demanded.

"Your 'ultimate plan' doesn't actually mean anything," said Steve.

Rausseman crossed his arms.

"What do you mean?" he snapped.

Steve leaned over the rail.

"You don't get it, do you?" he asked, "All these battles, all this fighting, every soldier you deploy against us... all that attention you give to _war_ , and you've never really thought..."

He smiled.

"...that all of it was just one big distraction?"

Rausseman's lips thinned.

" _What?_ "

* * *

 _A few days earlier - Washington DC..._

" _You remember when Ford and Tambry went to the White House, right? You just focused on Ford because he was fighting, right? So what was Tambry doing?_ "

Tambry grinned as the files finished downloading from the computer. She pulled out the USB and headed for the door of the dark West Wing office, picking up her phone as she did.

"Foley, I've got it."

* * *

 _Now - Foley Residence, Amity Park, IL_

" _What she did was access all of President Fulton's private emails. And she gave that to our best computer whiz..._ "

"You're not gonna believe this, AJ, this is a goldmine," said Tucker, spinning on his chair as he spoke on the phone with his cousin, "This is bigger than Wikileaks."

" _Well, I'm ready to post when you are,_ " replied AJ, " _Shall we?_ "

"Yes," replied Tucker, "I think we _shall_."

He grinned and tapped the Enter key on his computer.

"Now to spread this," he said, "I'll call SEN..."

* * *

 _Now - Attorney-General's Office, Albany NY_

" _...who gave their files to a whole bunch of interested parties..._ "

"Governor?"

The Attorney-General was at his desk and on his phone - across from him, a very satisfied Pepper Potts was holding up a laptop.

"Yes, I have Pepper Potts in my office, she's showed me a government leak. There's a number of federal officials in New York who I think need to be arrested..."

* * *

 _Now - RERE Headquarters, Hereford, Great Britain_

" _...including a couple of tech experts._ "

"You're not gonna believe it. Allsworthy wrote himself a backdoor into the ERIs, which he _literally_ called the Kingsman protocol."

"Blimey, we're not gonna blow up anyone's heads, are we?"

"Nah, he couldn't get the semtex in time."

"Very funny. Alright, I'm shutting them down... _now..._ "

* * *

 _Now - Wakanda_

" _As we speak, your fancy little ERIs are going offline..._ "

Amethyst clutched her whip as the soldier peered through the turret hatch. He raised his rifle - then, suddenly, he winced and clutched his head.

"What... what the heck am I doing?" he muttered, "Where the heck is this?"

He shook his head, climbing back down and leaving Amethyst totally bewildered.

* * *

 _Now - Unidentified Broadcast Station_

"... _and the world is learning about what you did._ "

"You're on." Sour Cream gave a thumbs up, and Jameson began to speak.

"This is J. Jonah Jameson with a special bulletin," Jameson said, "For months, we have seen the increasing authoritarianism of the Fulton administration. Today, files were released to the public revealing that the President has been in near constant communication with a Neo-Nazi organisation - specifically, PURITY, the same group that attacked the White House in the last months of the last administration..."

* * *

 _Now - The Capitol Building, Washington DC_

" _...which means your power base..._ "

"With these inexcusable abuses of power in mind," declared the Senator, "I feel I have no choice but to call for the impeachment of President Henry Edward Fulton, and for his arrest and incarceration while the impeachment proceedings proceed."

"All in favour?"

"Aye."

"All against? ...the ayes have it..."

* * *

 _Now - Camp David_

"... _just fell apart._ "

Fulton jumped as the door was kicked open, and the suited government agents burst in with their guns drawn.

"Agent Dorian Fletcher, CIA," declared the lead agent, "You're coming with us."

* * *

" _...Fulton arrested as impeachment proceedings begin in the Senate, in what may be the most shocking day in US political history since the Watergate Scandal..._ "

"Surfer?" said Coulson, "Now might be the time!"

The Silver Surfer nodded, walking out of the bridge.

"Will he accept this?" Shuri called after him.

"This is our best chance," the Surfer replied.

* * *

"It doesn't matter!" snarled Rausseman, "Fulton's a pawn! As long as Galactus comes into range of this station, there is no..."

"Well," shrugged Stevonnie, "You might wanna take a look."

Rausseman turned.

In the distance, he could see Galactus, a tiny, silver speck flying in front of his face. For a moment, Galactus frowned, turning from the Earth to Ziu Station and back again.

Then he nodded and turned around.

"No... no, what is he doing? _What is he doing?!_ " demanded Rausseman.

"No power base? No threat?" replied Ford, "Looks like Galactus doesn't care anymore."

Rausseman stared in horror as he watched the titan disappear. He shook his head.

"No... _no! NO!_ "

He grabbed his radio from his coat and screamed into it.

" _Full power to the chamber!_ " he bellowed, " _Get him, before he leaves!_ "

" _Bu... but Mein Führer, we'll overload the-_ "

" ** _Just do it!_** "

He threw his radio to the ground as the station began to shake.

"I am a _master tactician!_ " he snarled, "And I will have my way!"

"You're an overpromoted artilleryman," replied Steve, "And you've already lost."

There was a loud boom, and the station shook.

"What was that?" exclaimed Tambry.

"The Chamber," Garnet replied simply, "Exploding."

The intercom blared to life.

" _All hands, abandon ship. All hands, abandon ship._ "

"No!" screeched Rausseman, " _NO!_ "

"Well, time to go," said Ford, "To the Quinjet, now! This station's gonna rip itself apart!"

* * *

The station shook violently as Dipper, Mabel and Stan ran back into the hangar. A few of the commandos there instinctively raised their guns.

"Friendly! Friendly!" the sergeant shouted.

"Get him in!" exclaimed Dipper, "He's slightly winded!"

"Oh come on!" snapped Stan, "I'm not that bad off!"

He limped towards the Quinjet, the twins following him. Suddenly, Mabel froze.

"Wait," she asked, "What happened to Timmy?"

* * *

"Move, move, move!"

The group raced through the corridors, bounding for the hangar. Ford grit his teeth. It wouldn't be long...

They turned a corner and skidded to a halt. There, on the other side, stood Timmy, his expression dark.

"Timmy?!" exclaimed Danny.

"Step aside, Turner," snapped Jimmy, "We've already brought Rausseman down. You don't have to..."

"It's not enough," growled Timmy, " _It's not enough._ "

He raised his hand. A vent burst, and a torrent of flame split the group in two - Jimmy, Danny, Lapis and Steve on one side, the rest on the other.

"Timmy, stop this!" shouted Danny, "This isn't you!"

Ford reached into his jacket and pulled out a second anti-mutant pistol, but before he could aim it, the station rocked violently again, and he dropped it into flames.

"Ford!" shouted Steve, "Find the escape pods! We'll make our own way back!"

"But..."

Ford swallowed and nodded.

"Everyone, with me!"

Ford's group ran away. Lapis clenched her fists. It was time to put out a fire.

Next to her, Jimmy's Recaller beeped.

* * *

"We can't wait any longer!" the pilot shouted, "I'm lifting the ramp!"

"But our friends!" exclaimed Mabel, "Soos! Ford! They're still..."

" _You left Soos and Ford?!_ " thundered Stan.

"There's no time!" bellowed the sergeant, "Lift the ramp, now! Corporal, restrain him!"

Two of the soldiers forced Stan back into his seat as the Quinjet took off from the hangar.

* * *

"Dude, escape pods!"

The group had reached a wider corridor, a row of circular doors along the left-hand side. Each was helpfully marked as an escape pod, and Ford quickly pulled open the door to the first one.

"Get in!" he shouted.

Tambry ran in first, but before anyone else could act, Ford felt a hand yank the back of his coat. He turned around, and came face-to-face with a scowling Rausseman.

"If I die here," he snarled, " _So do you._ "

He tackled Ford into the pod, hitting the launch button with his ankle on the way in. The door swiftly shut, and the pod rocked as it was released from its supports.

"Let me go!" Ford thundered, punching Rausseman in the face.

While the general recuperated, Ford crawled to the small window in the pod door. It was impossible to see much, but he could just about see the shape of Ziu Station. Then, suddenly, it disintegrated into an enormous, red fireball - he could see no other pods.

" _Nooooooo!_ "

He heard a hollow laugh behind him.

"How does it feel, Pines?" Rausseman snarled, "To lose everything once again."

" _I'll kill you!_ "

Ford roared and tackled the PURITY leader.

* * *

Amethyst sat back in the wrecked turret, her head in her hands. Even with the US soldiers retreating, she could still hear PURITY outside - she began to wonder if anyone would ever come to help them.

Presently, she heard the shout of a PURITY officer, demanding that his men check the ruined vehicles around them.

"Well," she sighed, "I think it's game over, Peri. But we had a good run."

"I don't- I don't- I don't wanna go," whimpered Peridot.

"Yeah," nodded Amethyst, "Me neither."

She pulled Peridot into a hug.

"But it's okay," she said, her voice cracking, "I've got you."

"I l- I l... ugh!"

Peridot buried her face in Amethyst's shoulder.

"I love you, Amethyst."

Amethyst closed her eyes and smile.

"I love you too, man."

For the last time that day, a soldier climbed onto the turret and peered inside, weapon drawn.

Specifically, a Dora Milaje soldier leaned down and offered her hand.

* * *

The pod tumbled through the rain and fog, plummeting to Earth. Below it, the battlefield of Wakanda slowly came into view.

For a brief moment, T'Challa looked up, gazing at the tiny object as it flew gracefully down. It impacted softly with the mud, about a kilometre from his position.

"We'd better check that," he said.

* * *

The pod door opened, and Ford and Rausseman tumbled out.

Ford gained the initiative first, pinning the general in the mud and punching him repeatedly in the face. Rausseman snarled, kicking upwards and pushing Ford off of him. He fumbled with his jacket, reaching for his gun and drawing it on Ford.

Ford lunged forward, grabbing Rausseman's arm and twisting it upwards - he fired three shots before dropping the pistol. Retaliating quickly, Rausseman leaned forward and bit down hard on Ford's arm - the scientist yelped in pain and drew back, and Rausseman was immediately on him, clutching Ford's neck and squeezing.

"Why won't you die?!" he screamed, " _Why won't you die?!_ "

Ford swung another hard punch into Rausseman's face, knocking out two teeth and sending him face-first into the mud. He moved to the pin the Nazi, but Rausseman rolled out of the way. He punched back twice, knocking Ford onto his back, before climbing on top of him. He grabbed a large rock with both hands and held it up high, ready to bring it down on Ford's skull.

"No!"

Tambry charged from the pod, running shoulder first into Rausseman and knocking him over. The rock fell from his hands - he felt around for it, but instead found the grip of his pistol.

He shot up and fired three times. Tambry stumbled back, falling into the mud.

Rausseman had no time for satisfaction. Ford was on him again, swinging his own rock into the side of his head. Vision swimming, Rausseman fell back into the mud - Ford grabbed the gun, stood up, slammed his foot on the General's chest and pointed the barrel at his head.

And then there was silence. Ford felt the cold rain wash over him, the white hot rage slowly cooling. It was replaced with a calm resolve. It was time to end this, he thought - there was only one possible end for Armin Rausseman.

Rausseman closed his eyes and smiled.

"Well played Doctor Pines," he sighed, "Well played. You have earned your victory."

He opened his eyes and looked Ford in the eye.

"Now," he said, "That soldier's death, if you please."

A strange pressure pulled at Ford's finger, urging him, begging him to give Rausseman what he wanted. But something else filled his mind, something very different.

"No," said Ford.

Rausseman frowned.

"What?" he snapped, "But I have killed everyone you cared about! You have the power to..."

"No," replied Ford, "If I pull the trigger, I'm doing what you want. I won't let you have that power over me."

He threw the gun away and stepped off of Rausseman's chest.

"I'm finished," he said.

"No," Rausseman breathed, "No! I... I'm supposed to get a soldier's death! I'm... _you don't understand!_ My illness, Pines, it... _come back! Finish the job! FINISH THE JOB, YOU JEW SWINE!_ _ **FINISH IIIIT!**_ "

Slowly, a squad of the Dora Milaje marched out of the fog, pointing their spears at the fallen general. He stopped screaming, stopped thrashing, and stared hollowly at his last quarry.

"Bitte," he choked out a half-sob, " _Bitte._ "

Ford said nothing as the Dora Milaje began to drag him away. One shook her head in disgust.

"That is their Führer?" she sniffed.

"That's just a scared artilleryman," replied Ford, "And he always was."

* * *

"Hey! Uh, T'Challa? Your majesty? You're gonna wanna see this!"

Wendy pointed up into the sky. T'Challa watched, bemused, as a second and third escape pod tumbled through the sky, the second one heading towards them.

"It looks like we're being invaded by ping pong balls," mused Peter.

"The ping-pong balls will _die_ at my hand," vowed M'Baku.

"Yes, thank you M'Baku," nodded T'Challa.

With a dull thud, the second pod landed in the mud. Slowly, the door opened, and the surrounding Jabari warriors aimed their spears.

Finally, the door swung open. Slowly and dizzily, Soos stepped out.

"Uh, you should probably tell Ford we're all good," he said, "I think... I think he thinks we're dead."

"But we're not," added Stevonnie, stepping out after him.

"I kinda _feel_ dead, though," muttered Kamala, rubbing her head.

* * *

"Unidentified objects coming in!" shouted Tennant, "They're... humanoid."

"Humanoid?"

Coulson looked out at the objects approaching. One was blue, and carried two figures beneath it - it was Lapis, ferrying Steve and Danny. The other carried Jimmy and what looked to be Timmy by their respective collars - she seemed to have a white hair.

"One of them's hailing us," said Tennant, "Frequency matches a Neutronic Recaller."

"Put it through," ordered Shuri.

Tennant did so.

" _This is Dani Phantom calling the big helicarrier. I have Danny, Jimmy and Timmy, and if they ever leave me out of an adventure like this again, I'm gonna dump 'em on Mars._ "

* * *

Ford hated hospital wards, this one especially. It was dark, and he couldn't quite identify what all of the Wakandan equipment did just by looking at it. Tambry lay on the bed, breathing through an oxygen mask, her torso heavily bandaged.

The door opened. Ford frowned as the Silver Surfer stepped in.

"She is dying," he said.

"You should become a physician," Ford muttered humourlessly.

The Surfer stood next to her bed, studying her closely.

"Those files she hacked," he said, "Saved your entire species from Galactus."

"Or Rausseman," grunted Ford, "If his plan had worked - well, it'd be better if Galactus ate the Earth, wouldn't it?"

The Surfer nodded grimly.

"Galactus expresses his... _gratitude_ for bringing back his herald," he said, "And for preventing him from destroying the Earth under false pretences. In that order. He may be... _convinced_ to help the young woman who made at least one of those things possible."

"I don't know if I have the authority to agree to something like that," mused Ford.

"You don't," agreed the Surfer, "But that's alright."

He gave Ford the ghost of a smile.

"Galactus has already decided. You don't have a choice."

* * *

And so, life went on.

Henry Edward Fulton's party was annihilated in the midterms. It was ultimately academic to him, as he was swiftly impeached. He lived out the rest of his life in a federal prison, his name eclipsing that of Benedict Arnold as a byword for treachery.

Armin Rausseman was tried in front of the Hague for crimes against humanity. During these trials, his health decayed rapidly, and he was soon confined to a Dutch prison hospital. He would never leave, dying ten years later. He had spent most of the decade effectively paralysed.

The Allied Powers who had fought PURITY established a new taskforce for hunting down PURITY remnants, commanded by General Okoye and Brigadier R. Atkinson. It took two years for the final holdouts to be mopped up.

The ruins of the Baxter Building in New York were converted into a memorial for all victims of PURITY and President Fulton. It was opened by Steve Rogers on the second anniversary of the attack, with representatives of Wakanda and Attilan in observance.

All anti-mutant and anti-Inhuman legislation was quietly removed from the books in the years following the war.

The Phoenix reappeared a year or so later, but now it was back under the control of Jean Grey. The rebuilt SHIELD under Director Phil Coulson worked tirelessly to ensure that she kept the power of the Phoenix Force under control, utilising a system of mutual cooperation rather than the experiments Petrov had carried out.

All persons forced into hiding during the Fulton administration were compensated by both the UN and the United States Government.

And as for our heroes? For most of them, things went broadly back to normal, or as normal as things could be in the new world. In their fused form of Stevonnie, Steven Universe and Connie Maheswaran became official go-betweens for the Crystal Gems and Wakanda (much to the confusion of one Everett K. Ross.) Garnet went on a very long vacation to celebrate being together again. Timmy was healed of his Phoenix corruption, and was believed to have asked Dani on a date. The answer to the question is not known.

Peridot was quickly healed at Rose's fountain, and she and Amethyst began to go out.

Stan and Ford resumed their travels around the world as if nothing had happened. It was better that way - better to get on with life, Ford said, while they still had it. You never knew what tomorrow would bring.

Thanks to a boon from Galactus, Tambry survived her wounds from the battle. In return, she works as his Herald-In-Being on Earth...

* * *

"So what's a Herald-in-Being?" asked Wendy, sitting back on the lawn chair on the Mystery Shack roof.

"Basically you sit on Earth until he needs you," shrugged Tambry.

"Cool," nodded Wendy, "And, uh, is being chrome a job requirement?"

Tambry shrugged her shining silver shoulders.

"I guess," she replied, "I mean, it kind of sucks 'cause I don't get _all_ the powers the Silver Surfer gets; like, I can't see dust mites in Andromeda from here, but... eh, it's a job."

She sat back, pulling out her phone and tapping away at it.

"How's Robbie taking it?" asked Wendy.

Tambry shrugged.

"Cool," nodded Wendy.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

"Just another day in Gravity Falls, huh?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Tambry replied.

 **The End**

* * *

"And that is all she wrote!"

I rolled back on my chair, cracking my fingers as I hit save.

"Well, that's Blue Alert done and dusted," I said, "And I cannot thank you guys enough for all your support during the PURITY arc. Hopefully all the Trump comparisons didn't get tiring."

I sat back.

"There is one thing I've learned from this, though," I mused, "And it's that there is such thing as too much. Like, I initially had bigger plans for the Phoenix, but it just wasn't possible in the end. The main gist was still there, but I feel like Jean should have played a bigger part."

I stood up, pushing my chair away.

"But _next year_ ," I said, "I'm gonna learn from that. And as always, I'd like to thank everyone very much for all of their support. I wouldn't have finished one of these without that, never mind eight! Farewell, goodbye, and I shall see you next year!"

 _ALL: We didn't start October,  
It's some science thing,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

 _ALL: We didn't start October,  
It's some science thing,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

* * *

 _FINAL STATISTICS_

 _31 Chapters._

 _159 Pages._

 _1,267 Hits._

 _4 Faves._

 _2 Alerts._

 _51,440 Words._

 _ _245,111_ Characters (without spaces)._

 _Approx. 100 Hours of Work._

 _One Exhausted Author - plotting new schemes._

* * *

 _"Well, that's Blue Alert done and dusted," I said, "And I cannot thank you guys enough for all your support during the PURITY arc. Hopefully all the Trump comparisons..."_

"He thinks he's so clever, doesn't he?"

The figure sat in the dark room, scowling as they looked at the screen. The small shack was cold and windswept - their few possessions strewn around it; a high-visibility jacket most notable among them.

The figure's scowl deepened. They reached under their desk and pulled out a knife.

"We'll see just how clever you are, won't we?" he snarled, "You _monster._ "


End file.
